Agent 15
by bellamysgirl
Summary: Agent Samantha Schmidt, or more commonly known as Agent 15, was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents. That all changed when a mission went terribly wrong and an early retirement ensued. But Coulson found a way to drag her back into the agent life with one phone call, only mentioning the problem by one name: Ward. Season 1-ish. Major AU.
1. Chapter One :: I See Fire

**8 YEARS AGO**  
 **RUSSIAN HYDRA BASE**

This was too much. It burned too much. But I couldn't move. I couldn't run, walk, or even crawl away from this pain. It was in my skin. Everything in front of me was tinged grey, like I was looking through some kind of hazy screen.

I felt the scrambled piece of glass on the pavement pierce the skin of my fingers and my palm. But just that. Not the searing pain sure to follow such a wound. Only the odd sensation of something breaking the skin.

My body felt numb. Buzzed. I mustered up the strength to force my head up. And it was a mistake. The Hydra base was up in flames. Completely engulfed in the yellow orange heat. There was no way there'd be survivors after that.

A familiar masculine voice echoed through the carnage, making my heart beat right out of my chest. "Sam? Sam!" It was Grant. A pang of guilt sprang up in my chest for not thinking of him sooner.

I swallowed hard, against the constrictions of my desert of a throat, and rose my voice to the highest octave possible in that moment. "Here! I'm-" A hoarse, seal like cough ripped through my trachea, leaving behind a sharp sting. "I'm here!"

I hoped it was loud enough for him to hear, wherever he was. My numb fingertips gripped at the concrete beneath my body and I tried pulling. I tried with every ounce of strength I had. But my muscles couldn't move.

A sharp, burning pain deep in my bones pierced my left side and I gave it a rest with an audible wince. Heat was rolling down my left temple. I was bleeding, I knew. Though it took too much strength to find out why. I just couldn't.

"Sam! Oh, Sam..." I felt a presence at my side following the sound of his voice.

"It's better than it looks," I tried to assure.

I could hear him sigh. His hands were slightly raised above his lap from where he knelt inches from me, like he wanted to touch me, put me back together, or comfort me somehow but he didn't know what to do. "We need to go," he finally said. "Evac is in twenty. Can you move your legs?"

It almost sounded like it pained him to ask. I nodded a little. "Yeah..." I groaned, willing the muscles in my calves to move, to wiggle, to do anything but sit there. "I think so. Mm, maybe not. I can't."

"Okay. This is gonna hurt."

Just do it. As I thought that, he swung my right arm over his shoulder and lifted, pulling me up quickly to my feet as he stood. He was right. It hurt. It felt like my body was being ripped in half at the waist. A muffled scream escaped me and I clung to him, desperate for the pain to stop.

It was like everything hit me in that moment. The pain from the blast, the glass in my hands, and whatever happened to my side all broke through the numbness at the same time. "It's okay, I've got you. I'm gonna get you out of here," he said, slightly out of breath.

Standing, I could see his face. He looked virtually untouched. Except for the gash on his right leg. I could tell in the way he moved for the first few steps that something wasn't right, so I looked down. And that's when I saw it.

My head bumped oddly into the side of his and at first I groaned from the jostling of my brain. But I tried to stay a little more to the left. "Sorry," I groaned.

"I think that's the least of our worries," he waved it away. He still sounded out of breath, strained. With practically dragging me across the concrete littered with shrapnel and glass I can see why. "Did you get it?" I asked.

"Get what?"

"The file, did you get the file?" I pressed, more urgently.

A smirk spread across his chapped lips. "You think I would've left that place without it? It's in my pocket. You can check if you want."

"Well, at least Fury won't kill us completely," I sighed.

"Not completely," he agreed, playing along with the dry sarcasm presented him. "Maybe a quarter of the way. Or a half, considering the base is destroyed."

"I'll settle for a half."

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**  
 **S.H.I.E.L.D. SAFE HOUSE**

Sometimes it's hard to tell the days apart. If I didn't have a clock or a calendar I'd think it was still last week. Sitting on the back porch of the farm house in the ratty old chair some poor S.H.I.E.L.D. sap was tasked with moving.

Curled up on it's cushion with my knees to my chest, a blanket around my shoulders, and a warm cup of coffee in my hands. This is how it should be. Cozy and warm in the brisk of the morning waiting for the sun to rise above the tree line surrounding the property.

I don't belong in the fight. I don't belong in S.H.I.E.L.D. Not anymore. At least, that's what I've told myself every day since Russia. Every day. I've suffered enough for the cause. I deserve to leave and be on my own.

But sometimes it all comes back to me, and I wonder what I was thinking leaving the Helicarrier. And I think of all the missions I completed. All of the people that only knew my face right before it was all over for them. One thing in particular hits me a little harder than necessary.

The day I officially left S.H.I.E.L.D. for the safe house. It was right at the forefront of my mind, and I almost saw it. I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool morning breeze. But the most unfamiliar sound broke any and all thoughts from my mind, except one: since when did the telephone work?

Apparently it's worked the whole time. I pried myself from my cozy perch on the chair, leaving behind the blanket, and walked fast into the house. Then to the kitchen. More specifically, the counter by the door, where the handset was based.

The number across the small screen was unfamiliar. But I recognized the first few numbers. It was a S.H.I.E.L.D. number. For a moment I thought better of it. I told myself no. It didn't last long. My fingers quickly snatched the phone off the base, pressing the green button.

I answered, "Who are you and how did you get this number?"

"Samantha. It's good to hear your voice."

"Coulson?" I paused. The blood in my veins froze right along with the rest of me. It was quiet on his end for a short moment, and every inch of my being was crawling with anticipation. What could be so important? What was enough to make him call me after all this time?

Why not call Barton or Romanoff? At least they're still in the field, as far as I know. "We need you," Coulson finally said, sounding a bit reluctant.

"You know I don't do that anymore," I reminded, resting a hand on my hip. I tried to remain calm. To hold myself back. But there was a war waging inside me. Deep in my bones. Half of me begged to say yes to whatever he offered.

And the other half of me was pleading with me to just say no. To stay in the simple life, out of harm's way. I held my breath waiting for him to reply. "I know," he answered. I can almost picture him nodding. "It's Ward."

That was enough. Just two words to bring it all back, to push me into the conversation, like a wave of ice water rushing down my body. "How do I get to you?"

"We're landing at the airfield just north of the farm in an hour," he clarified, calmly and evenly.

I inhaled. "I'll be there."

With that said, I ended the call on my side, docking the phone back on it's base and trotted upstairs to my bedroom. No matter the circumstance, I need to go. I can't stand by if Ward is in trouble. Ward. It sounds so wrong.

I only ever called him Grant. Under direct orders, I was to be called Agent 15 in any public setting or even around other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But usually it was just '15'. Or Sam. He'd only called me Sam for a few weeks before Russia.

It was muscle memory. I packed a duffel bag with only the clothes I knew I'd absolutely need, making sure to pack a few extra clips for the glock I slid into my belt at my lower back, throwing on some palatable clothes before heading out to the barn.

Pushing open the tall door, sending a wave of a hay-dust mixture up into the air. The opening revealed a car shape beneath a black cover. I'd put it there myself almost three years ago. Now, peeling it off felt wrong. Almost too wrong.

But the sight of my silver jaguar could've made my heart stop completely. I gave a low whistle. "I missed you, girl," I hummed, opening the driver's side door. "Wanna go for a ride?" A car. I am talking to a car. As you can see, the retirement has done me well.

I started the engine, revving the gas a few times, and the roaring purr vibrated my bones switching it into gear. I tried to take it slow. Ease myself back into this lifestyle. Ease myself into the idea of being apart of something like S.H.I.E.L.D. again.

Though I couldn't help myself. I drove over the speed limit the whole leg of my trip by car. I knew where the airfield was; that's where I was dropped off when I first got to this dinky little farm town.

I swerved onto the runway and there it was. Coulson's plane. The bay down was open and a figure was standing at the top. It had to be him. I eased off the gas, gradually slowing my speed enough to slide to a stop before I could hit the ramp.

Cutting the engine and climbing out of the car seemed to be simultaneous. Swinging my duffel over my shoulder while sliding on my sunglasses, kicking the door closed with my boot heel. "Glad you could make it," Coulson greeted.

"Not sure I had a choice," I replied, a bit more blunt than I was going for, as I trotted up the ramp to meet him at the top. As soon as I was up, he turned and started walking deeper into the bay, expecting me to follow.

Like I always used to. It'd gotten to the point where we knew each other so well, how we thought and acted, that we didn't have to even ask questions. Because we just knew. There was no need. Well, except maybe for the people around us.

I sighed, breathing in that new car smell the S.H.I.E.L.D. plains always seemed to carry. "So, are you going to tell me why I'm here?" I inquired, glancing at him.

"Ward's with Hydra. Has been the whole time." I could hear the words. Hearing wasn't the problem. My feet stopped in their place and almost instinctively Coulson stopped as well. Only then did I pull off my glasses.

I need to look him in the eye. I need him to look me in the eye. "Coulson, what are you talking about? If it wasn't for Ward I would never have made it out of Russia," I reminded, keeping my voice low.

"I know. Sam...this is hard for the whole team. None of us wanted to believe it. But it happened. Now we need your help to track him down," Coulson replied. He was obviously trying to act like it didn't affect him.

When, I knew for a fact, that it did. I clenched my jaw and adjusted my weight to lean back on my heels to look left, out the open bay door. There was no way Coulson was mistaken. Not about something like this.

He had to be telling the truth. And that means that the man that I used to call friend, the man that saved my life too many times to recall, was working for the very group my father founded. I took a deep breath in.

It felt like my rib cage was closing in. I couldn't get a solid breath. But a shot of anger hit my chest, only gaining speed as it reached the pit of my stomach, settling in deep in my bones. I looked to Coulson and nodded. "Alright then. Show me your computer."

He nodded. "Right this way."

He started into a hallway through a door, and I followed shortly behind. All the way a room with a large touch screen table and monitor. The tech was accompanied by what I assumed was Coulson's team.

All four of them almost immediately disbanded their conversation, their heads turning our way. "This is Agent 15," Coulson introduced, slowing to a stop just before the table. Then he looked to me. "This is Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, Skye, and of course you already know Agent May."

He gestured around the table as he said each name. My eyes stopped on May when he finally reached her. She wore a light up-turning of lips that I recognized as the only sort of smile that woman could manage. I smirked as she took a step around the table, and held out a hand.

Her hand clasped in mine in a kind of hand shake greeting, like old friends do. "Last place I ever expected to see you again," I commented. "Especially considering last time we met, you hit me in the face."

She smirked a little in return, taking a step back. "I told you that was apart of the act."

"You know you liked it," I replied, lightly sarcastic, then I turned to see the others. "Nice to see where Coulson's been spending his days. And, no, you don't have to call me 'Agent 15' all the time. Just call me Sam."

"Why 'Agent 15'?" Skye asked, curiously, bent to lean her forearms atop the table.

"That's a story for another day. A very, very long one. For the time being, though, I hear you have a lost agent?" I said it like a question. Like this was first time I was hearing about it.

The one called Fitz huffed a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, you could call it that."

"What my colleague means to say, is that Ward was never really an agent," Simmons corrected, her accent clean and clipped around every word.

"He's a traitor," Skye huffed, eyes downcast.

"I know a thing or two about that, don't I, Coulson?" I glanced to Coulson and he only gave me a cautioning look, as if to warn me to watch my mouth in front of the group. So I nodded once and looked back to the sour faces of his team. "If someone could show me how to use this thing, I can get started."

"We have to get back to the lab, but it was very nice meeting you, Agent- um- Sam," Simmons said, corrected herself mid-sentence as she and Fitz backed out the other side of the room. They disappeared into the hall out the back door.

Skye stood, sighing. "I'll show you."

She sounded like she wanted to be polite and volunteer, but she felt too bitter to actually act like it. I let my duffel bag drop off my shoulder to the floor beside the table, then sidestepped up next to Skye to see what she was doing.

It was actually quite simple. It just took me a moment to retrain my muscles to using S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technology. I haven't seen a touch screen in seven years. I could tell Skye obviously had made some kind of connection with Ward.

It was in the way she spoke, in the way she acted and reacted, it was al over her face. She was more than a betrayed teammate. She was a woman scorned. So, finally, while the computer was running a preliminary search, I asked. "What was your relationship with Agent Ward?"

She didn't say anything at first, just quickly looked at me, almost like I'd caught her in the shower. I crossed my arms, leaning a hip into the table. "I...I don't know..." she stammered a little, extremely slow to speak.

"Seems more than an 'I don't know'," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes skeptically.

She sighed heavily, looking around, then down. Anywhere but at me. "I don't know, I guess...I thought we had something. I thought he cared," she shrugged, looking up to me. "But I guess not."

I just nodded and turned back to the computer. It figures. Isn't this what I wanted, from all those years ago? For him to move on? To find someone else? Russia didn't just put an end to me and my career as an Agent, it put an end to us.

I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle commitment. There was a moment when I thought I could, that maybe I could manage what happened to me and be normal. But it only took a second for that way of thinking to be gone.

Only to be replaced with whatever it is that I am now. I still have no idea. A sudden blurt from the screen pulled me from my thoughts, and I stood up straighter. "Well, well, well," I hummed.

"He's in Denver?" Skye asked, rhetorically.

"Some college campus just south of it, yeah," I replied, my fingers dance fast across the table. Using the street cameras and satellite images, I could narrow it down. "Get Coulson."


	2. Chapter Two :: Stay In The Car

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **DENVER, COLORADO**

"Why do you wear those sunglasses all the time?" Fitz questioned, from the backseat. I glanced up at him in the rea view mirror through the haze of my dark lenses. Then I settled back on the road, answering as I turned the corner. "I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. We all wear them," I replied.

"Yeah, but all the time?" he pressed, rhetorically.

I nodded once. "Yep."

He sighed somewhat heavily. "Alright then, where are you from?"

"Technically, that's classified," I answered, simply. We rounded a corner as he scoffed, hard. He leaned between the driver and passenger seats to better see me with a confused expression.

"Wha- seriously?" he questioned, unbelieving.

"For you guys?" I glanced at them both to make my point, then looked back to the road. "Um, yeah." He made an odd whining sound that almost sounded like a confused shriek. The man looked like he was about to ask again when Skye interrupted.

"We're here," she announced, rueful.

Only then did I notice she was right. So I hooked a left and pulled into a space at the back of the parking lot for the campus and cut the engine. To be honest, I was a bit rueful myself. I haven't been on mission in over seven years.

And this whole thing screamed trap. But it was my job to be the tough one. To get in and get the job done. Even with my various incapabilities post-Russia. So I unclipped my seatbelt, pulled the glock from my belt, and slid out of the SUV.

I inhaled. "Wait fifteen minutes. If I'm not back, come in."

"Got it, boss," Skye nodded, with an expression of sarcasm. Then she turned her tablet for me to see, and I squinted at it. She continued, "Level two. There's about eight guys in there with him. Armed, I'm guessing."

"Sounds like a party," I sighed. "Remember: stay in the car."

With that, I shoved the door closed and started for the entrance to the building. It was easily three levels in the main building. And that was Ward's location. I kept my sidearm ready in my right hand, my index finger rested just above the trigger.

Using my left hand to open the door, I slid inside. Every inch of me was on alert. Focused, but with a newfound anxiety gripping my chest, making it hard to breathe. I pressed on. To the side building stairwell and through the door.

At my first look up the floors, it was clear, so I took the stairs two at a time heading up. It didn't take long to get to the level two access door. My heart was thumping in my ears. It was deafening.

Carefully, cautiously, I pulled it open and peeked my head in. The hallway heading East was littered with Kevlar covered men armed with AKs. Heading West was virtually empty. And no sign of Ward.

I slipped back into the stairwell, letting the door close. I tried taking deep breaths. I tried to calm down. But it wasn't working. It felt like my heart might actually burst free from my chest. This wasn't like me.

I'm usually the clam one on missions while my partner has to change his shorts halfway through. And yet, here I am, sure to need a change of clothes. I gripped my glock tight. I had to do this, I had to get this over with.

My fingers gripped the door handle and I whipped it open, leaned through the doorway, and started firing. Bullet flew through the hallway with ear piercing cracks. With the men having on armored vests, I had to make every shot a head shot.

Every shot had to count. So I aimed high and never stopped pulling the trigger. After about two seconds they started to catch on and fire back. One of them lit up my side of the hallway and I ducked back into the stairwell.

Bullets dented in the thick metal door as I counted it up in my mind. Keeping track of how many bullets they used, how many guns were firing at once. Two guns max, each with maybe a handful of ammo left.

Knowing the rapid fire timeline, I counted down the seconds. As soon as the silence rang in, I opened the door, took two steps in, and fired three more shots. It cleared out the hallway with the last three dropping.

Instinctively I ejected my clip, checked for my own bullets. I didn't have many left. But I told myself I wouldn't need more than that and kept myself moving. Jogging past the bodies down the hall heading East.

Obviously these men weren't positioned here by accident. There was a plan to this. I know his thinking. Ward won't want a confrontation, especially with me. But he won't see me coming. Of course, now he knows someone's in the building.

Thankfully he doesn't know who specifically is in the building yet. I stopped at the corner, peering my head around looking both ways. Looking left, I saw him. A glimpse of him. Walking fast around another corner to the left at the end of the hall.

Carrying something small, black, and square. I took a deep breath and broke into a run through the hallway. My shoes squeaked on the shiny flooring. The only other sound I could make out other than my pulse.

My feet slid slightly as I rounded the corner and I stood still, aiming my gun right at Ward's back. "S.H.I.E.L.D.! Stop where you are!" I shouted to be heard halfway down the hall. At my voice, he slowed to an obviously reluctant stop.

My chest was heaving. I fought to keep my voice from shaking from the adrenaline rush. "Put your hands up...and turn around slowly," I ordered. He did as instructed, turning around to face me with his hands held high in surrender.

And as soon as I could see his eyes, I knew this was a mistake. It was like everything came rushing back in. Threatening to crush me completely. Outwardly, I kept up my strength. Keeping my chin up. My eyes settled on his. Not backing down.

I breathed in through my nose to calm myself. He looked bewildered. Like he truly didn't believe that it was me aiming a gun at his chest. "Sam?" His voice sounded so foreign to me.

"Looks like you've been busy," I commented. Then, gesturing downward with the gun, added, "Put down the box. Walk to me slowly."

At that, his hands dropped to his sides, and my shoulders tensed in anticipation. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he shook his head.

"Do it, or I will shoot you," I assured, tightening my grip. My index finger dropped into the trigger guard, resting against the cold metal. Just waiting for him to step out of line. But that's all I was sensing from this.

He wasn't one to go down without some kind of a fight. I should know. My life once depended on that fiery, untamable rage inside him. Once again, he shook his head, "I don't think you will."

His doubt sent a shot a bitter spite into my veins, and I shot one bullet into the ground just inches from his feet. Though his expression didn't change. "Grant," I tried. "Don't...make me...do this."

What I was at least expecting, of course, happened then. He pulled a gun from his belt and aimed it at my face, unflinching. The same lingering ghost of a smirk on his once kind lips. He cocked his head.

"You and I both know there's only one way we leave here. In a body bag," he said, as if it was obvious. "So take your shot, Sam. And make it a good one. I don't go down easy."

I scowled. "Neither do I."

And I pulled the trigger. Just as I did, a flame burned across the outer skin of my right bicep. I audibly winced, crying out, and gripped my arm. My eyes shifted up to the hallway in a second as it clicked.

This was a distraction. This whole Old Western Showdown was just to buy time. And as I figured that out, I watched as he made it into a stairwell access at the end of the hall, leaving a trail of blood droplets behind.

They were a contrast to the white of the floor, making it impossible to miss. I'd obviously hit him more than he'd hit me. I didn't second guess it. I just ran. I burst into the stairwell, taking them as fast as humanly possible, up two floors.

The whirring of a helicopter lead me straight up to the roof access. I flew through the door and was instantly blown back a shuffling of steps by the wind the whirly bird created. It was already up several feet, increasing in height by the second.

And in a short moment, it was gone. My shoulders dropped. My first mission back was an epic fail. Every part of my body was going to feel this tomorrow. I started the journey to the exit through three flights of stairs.

Skye and Fitz were still in the SUV when I got back, but they looked like they were getting ready to come in after me. I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. "What happened?" Skye questioned.

"He got away." I answered with as little detail as possible, pulling out of the parking lot. Once we got going, I rolled my window all the way down, in desperate need for the fresh air. It felt like I couldn't breathe even though I was inhaling deeply.

My knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel. The graze on my left arm burned brightly. And all I could hear was the rushing wind from the window.

* * *

 **8 YEARS AGO**  
 **RUSSIAN HYDRA BASE**

My side was aching, burning. I'm pretty sure my hand was the only thing holding an unidentified organ inside me. But we still weren't to the drop. We'd only covered maybe a handful of yards. And we needed to get at least a mile out.

Grant wasn't in the best shape either, but he trekked along without so much as one complaint, dragging me up somewhat of an incline. Finally, I sighed. "Grant, stop."

He looked to me, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Stop- just, stop."

"What's wrong?" he quickly questioned, edging on concern as he stopped walking. I removed my arm from his shoulders and pried his from around my waist, taking most of my wait on my injured leg.

With gritted teeth I let myself drop. My butt hit the ground and I hissed. "This is ridiculous," I stated. "There's no way I'm making it to the drop."

"I'm not leaving you here," he disagreed.

"And _I'm_ not going to be the reason you miss the evac." I twisted in my position in the dirt to look up at him, squinting to see in the sunlight. "Sam, don't be stubborn," he said, firmly. "We don't have time for this."

I nodded. "Yeah, okay- so go."

I gestured out with my free hand toward our estimated destination, audibly wincing when the action caused a deep pain in my side. A mixture of a heavy sigh and a groan of annoyance escaped him.

He sidestepped and crouched beside me, looking me in the eye despite the awkward shift of his right leg's positioning. His expression was stern. But I didn't back down, steeling my features to match. I was too stubborn for that.

"I am not _leaving_ you here, Samantha," he reiterated, more forceful this time, punctuating every word a little too much.

"Look at us, Grant!" I threw the words in his face. " _I_ can barely sit upright right now. And _your_ leg is still bleeding. There is no way we can both make it up that hill and across the field. Deep down you know I'm right. You have to go... _please_."

His expression didn't change with his silence, but the light in his eyes dimmed. It was hitting him. The reality of this was sinking in. I hissed, readjusting my position to lean back a bit more, easing the pressure off my side.

Nothing could've prepared me for this. For what came next. His knees touched the dirt as he leaned forward, not stopping until his lips had crashed into mine, his bruised and broken hands supporting my cheeks.

The apprehensive tensing of my muscles caused a slight pain. But I used every ounce of my strength to ignore it. Then suddenly everything was warm, everything was burning. Though it was in the best way.

Slowly, he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and I found myself kissing him back just as deeply. There was no apprehension. There was no pull back. Even though there should have been. The one thing you are told over and over again not to do.

 _Never get attached to places, animals, or people_. But I had done it. And, obviously, so had he.

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**  
 **THE BUS**

Agent Simmons was dabbing my bare arm with a disinfectant-soaked towelette. Obviously trying to be gentle, but the liquid still burned my damaged skin. "You're lucky this wasn't any deeper," she commented, trading the towelette for a gauze patch. "Or else you'd need stitches."

I gave a small, half-hearted closed mouth smile. It was fleeting, only lasting half of a second, and then I was looking away. At the wall. At the ceiling. At somewhere other than her. Yes. I was embarrassed. My pride had taken a hit.

But my sadness at this loss was at a different angle. I'd shot him. I'd actually shot Ward. Half of me was reprimanding myself for such a thing. And the other half was cheering me on. At least now I know that he's truly a traitor.

He's got terrible aim, witch is very uncharacteristic, but he is in fact a traitor. It didn't bother me, his aim. Why wouldn't he use a head shot? Probably the same reason I did not. Because I don't want him dead.

Simmons finished up wrapping my arm and stepped back with a content exhalation. "There," she beamed. "All patched up. It should be healed completely in a week or so."

"Thanks," I replied.

"Your accent is very lovely," she said, as she gathered up the plastic pieces of trash from the gauze wrapper.

My eyebrows furrowed a little. "Um. So is yours...?"

"It sounds vaguely familiar," she recalled, looking up from the table. She looked to be pondering it. Focusing hard to remember. Then she looked to my face. "Is it European?"

"German." I pushed myself off the table, my weight landing straight on my heels. It threw me off balance for a second. My caught myself with enough time to make it look unnoticeable as Agent Simmons looked away once again.

She hummed a moment, zipping off to another section of the lab. "Do you _speak_ German?" she asked, lightly, head disappearing into a drawer.

"Meinen Akzent ist das einzige, was, das ich von meiner Zeit in Deutschland links," I replied, the words rolling off my tongue easily. So easily I even surprised myself. I haven't spoken German in years. Using other languages than English was hard after Russia.

Nothing was right in my head anymore. I couldn't make my lips, or my tongue, do what I wanted them to do. They couldn't make the right sounds. Simmons made a delighted sound of surprise before turning around, skirting around the table to another one across from it.

She glanced back at me, smiling. "I guess that answers that question."

I crossed my arms loosely. But the motion twinged the cut in my arm, and I had to readjust. Just enough time passing to allow for Coulson and May to enter the room, inhibiting my reply. "How's our agent, Simmons?" Coulson asked.

"As good as new, sir," Simmons replied, almost in sing-song.

Then Coulson looked to me, standing just a foot or two from my position. "What went wrong out there?" he inquired, calmly. Memory of the mission flashed through my mind in stilled images. What _did_ go wrong?

Ward. Ward is what went wrong. I took a somewhat deep breath. Clearing my mind before opening my mouth. "I thought he was unarmed. He wasn't," I answered. "We shot each other."

"Doesn't look like much of a shot," May observed, eyeing the bandage on my arm.

I shrugged. "He missed."

She looked skeptical. But, thankfully for me, she didn't press. Coulson didn't look so convinced either. Though he kept his next words simple. "Did you?"

"Have I ever?" I smirked a little.

"Next time, aim for his head," May said, somewhat darkly, before disappearing back the way she'd come. I couldn't fight the bubble of protectiveness, the kernel of anger in my chest. My eyes bore into the back of her head with daggers as she walked away.

The little slice of the old me inside inwardly scorning her for the comment. I understand she's been betrayed. And betraying the trust of Agent Melinda May was not something you'd ever want to do if you value your life.

But I'm not killing Ward. Not if there's a chance we could take him alive and turn him against Hydra. That blind optimism might kill me, but I have to believe there's a way to fix this. There has to be. The world can't be that cruel to one person, can it?

Coulson sighed, bringing my mind back to the conversation. He looked just the hints of sympathetic. "I know this is a sore subject for you," he said. "But the sooner we get Ward, the sooner you can go back to your life at the farm." I nodded once, a small smile to my closed lips. He clasped my shoulder with a light squeeze of reassurance before passing me completely, walking out the backside of the room.


	3. Chapter Three :: A Bullet to The Head

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **THE BUS**

I couldn't wrap my head around it. How does someone like Grant Ward turn to something as awful and wicked as Hydra? I know his past. I know his demons like the back of my hand. And yet I still can't see how or where it came to this.

Given my history, what's in my DNA, I know exactly what Hydra is capable of. In all my dealings with Ward he seemed so normal. Almost even pure. And of course, right on cue, there I go thinking like a girl.

You only thought he was good because he seduced you. The only one ever to do it. Normally romance isn't my speed. Never has been. I'm too busy, too dark. Men don't like women like me. But there was something in me Ward liked, I guess.

I still have no idea what that was, because any sane person I've ever met tucked tail and ran the other way. Because they were smart. I guess that makes Ward stupid? Yes, on all accounts. I groaned and pushed the blanket off, swinging my legs off the bunk as I sat upright.

Clearly sleeping wasn't going to happen. I'm sure I could find something to do on this stupid plane. Then it was on my feet, out of the room, wandering to the touch screen table to check the search. As I expected, no news.

Then it was down the hall, passed the empty lab, vaguely wondering why the lights were all on if no one was even in here. Everyone was asleep. Or, they were supposed to be anyway. Running my hand along the wall.

Wishing I could feel it. The Russia mission fried most of the nerve endings in my left side. I can feel the ghost of things. A hard slap, a sharp stab, the echo of another's touch. But it was never the full feeling of anything anymore.

I spent the majority of my retirement in rehab, learning to use my body again. I couldn't use any of it when I finally got back state side. But a bullet to the head will do that to just about anyone, I guess.

* * *

 **8 YEARS AGO**  
 **RUSSIAN HYDRA BASE**

I wanted to hold onto it. All of this emotion whirling around inside. Because even it was an ugly storm, it felt like a beautiful daisy. And I'd never felt anything quite like this. But time keeps moving even if you don't.

The evac was in roughly ten minutes and there was still almost a whole mile to trek. So I was the first to break it, inhaling a deep breath. "You gotta go," I reiterated, forcing my eyes open. It felt like maybe the shock was setting in.

My left side was aching more now. I would only slow him down. His jaw was clenched tight as his irises scanned mine a quiet moment, thumb dancing across my cheek bone, shooting a spark of electricity into my veins.

"I'm coming back for you," he nodded once, his voice so certain.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he was up and moving before I could speak. A thought came to my mind just then. It caused me to take a look around. There were no Hydra agents in sight. But that could change at any minute.

With all my might, I used my free hand to push and rolled and wriggle onto my right side. The useable side. And then I pushed down. My muscles were liquid but I was just desperate enough, just high enough on adrenaline, to get myself up to my knees.

Then it was up to my feet and staggering across the dirt path to the grassy, hilly field dashed with sporadic trees. Half-limping and half-stumbling. The pain was white hot for a short moment. But then it was mostly subdued.

And I knew that was a bad sign. If it's so bad you can't feel it anymore then, nine times out of ten, you're closer to death than you thought. So I just kept moving. I still had my S.H.I.E.L.D. tracker, so at least I wouldn't get too lost.

For now I just needed somewhere else. Somewhere safer than this close to the blown Hydra base. The tip of my boot caught something hard and I faltered, taking a dive right into the side of a tree, audible wincing.

And that's when I heard it. A holler. A scream. A shout. Whatever you want to call it. It was coming straight from the direction of the base. That meant there actually were survivors. It seemed more and more these days those cockroaches just don't know how to die.

I inhaled a somewhat deep breath and pushed off the tree, shuffling onward to the next tree, using the staggered foliage as support like Leap Frog. Eventually I'd found a place seemingly far enough away.

I slid down the back of an ascended mass of dirt and grass with an exhale, leaning on my right side. Then another shout caught my eardrums. Causing my pulse to elevate just enough to make me worried.

If there was one thing in the world that had a chance of sending fear into my soul, it was Hydra. The very organization I've tried to destroy only after running from it my whole life. I've only been with S.H.I.E.L.D. two years.

But every mission it's something new with Hydra. And I guess I should have expected that from Fury. Let's send the daughter of the Red Skull into the belly of the beast and hope she doesn't get eaten alive. Of course, I never did.

I always came home. But this all felt too final. It felt like my last ride. So I freed my pistol from the holster on my thigh and racked a bullet into the chamber, holding the metal close to my chest as I waited. They must've known I survived.

They'd had to. Otherwise, they wouldn't be getting closer. I can tell by their voices and their footsteps. Echoing closer in every passing heartbeat. A branch snapped and I estimated at least three yards from my perch.

This was it. I inhaled, biting my tongue, and twisted on my left side to see around my backing. It sent a burning up into my bones. But I ignored it. I could see the Hydra agent that'd been shouting. He didn't look familiar.

Tall, bulky, broad shouldered. Smoldering from the burning building. Pieces of his armor singed. He was a guard. He must have been far enough from the blast to get rocketed off instead of burned to a crisp.

My hands trembled aiming my gun at him. One shot. One shot and he'll know I'm here. I aimed for his back as best I could see, and puled the trigger.

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**  
 **THE BUS**

I found my way back to the computer to check the scan after a while of roaming aimlessly. Coulson was there when I arrived, already standing at the table. His head turned as I walked in. I raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" I inquired, dryly.

"I could say the same to you," he pointed out, before turning back to the screen.

I sighed, stepping up beside him. "Anything new?"

"No," he answered, and I crossed my arms loosely over my chest. He eyed me a moment, before continuing, "What's keeping you up? Something on your mind?"

"Thanks to Ward, there's a lot on my mind."

"You still love him, don't you?" That question caught me off guard. Usually Coulson's never this blunt when trying to get me to talk to him. It was uncharacteristic. But I filed it away to examine later. For now, I only stared at him.

He paused, lifting a brow. And finally I cracked. "I never loved him," I shook my head.

"Really? Never? Should I go into a detailed summary of your mission in Ibiza?" It was a playful threat. But I could detect of hint of seriousness.

I scoffed. "You think that meant something?"

He gave me a look. Slightly tilting his head. Milking the abilities of his pointed expressions for every drop. "I think he thought it meant something."

"He's also a Hydra agent," I pointed out, shrugging one-shouldered. "I wouldn't trust a word out of his lying, back stabbing, conniving, two-timing-"

"I get the picture," Coulson nodded.

"-okay." I nodded once, slowly, in return. Stopping my run-on explanation. A silence fell on the room. My eyes flickered down to the table. Watching the computer scan and search all on it's own, thanks to an algorithm Skye put together.

Coulson exhaled suddenly, causing me to glance up again. Raising an eyebrow at his gaze on my face. "What?" I inquired, somewhat curious.

"Some things don't change, do they? You...you're still you," he explained. He reached up a hand into my dark brown locks to tug on a space I knew to hold my solo red streak. "For example, you're still dying this old thing."

My old bones managed a soft chuckle. "Yeah. It's kind of a habit now."

"I don't think I even remember why you got it to begin with," he said, in light realization. He didn't have to ask. He didn't have to elude. He wasn't even prodding me for information. But my heart always seemed to melt around that man.

Maybe it was the fact that he practically raised me past the age of sixteen? Or maybe it's that he was the only positive male figure in my life until I joined S.H.I.E.L.D.? Maybe it's because he's like the father I never had, but prayed for every night?

Either way, like usual, I spilled my guts. "It's a reminder, you see," I explained, pulling out my heavier German accent. His lips tugged up into a soft smile. "To never become what the red stands for. My mother used to say to me, 'Anfangen ist leicht, Beharren eine Kunst.'"

"Starting is easy, persistence is an art," Coulson translated aloud. "Isn't there some German saying about sitting on your butt too long?"

I nodded a little, seeing where he was going with it. "Wer rastet, der rostet. Or, he who rests grows rusty."

"Yeah, that's the one." He said it like it was just coming to him. The light bulb above his head was just turning on. Though we both knew he knew all along. But I'll let him have this one. "Are you rusty yet?"

"Ward got away, didn't he?" I asked, rhetorically. My eyes instinctively shifted down. To my shoes. To the floor. To some place much lower. "Hey, you'll get him next time," Coulson assured, supportively.

"I don't want a text time, Phil," I vented, on a sigh of an exhale. "I left S.H.I.E.L.D. the first time because he got in my head. That can't happen again. Especially not now."

"I know," Coulson nodded. He looked to be about to continue. Opening his mouth to speak. But a familiar ring caught both our attentions. A SAT phone. I didn't want to tell Coulson that I was keeping one on hand.

Guess the cat's out of the bag now, huh? I sighed and unearthed the tech from my back pocket. "Sorry, it's mine," I apologized. My thumb darted over the 'end call' button. But I stopped. The number flashed on the screen.

Something in my chest tugged. I knew that number. How did I know that number. "Samantha?" Coulson tried. "Everything okay?"

I nodded quickly, swallowing. "Yeah, yeah- I just need one second."

It was mostly a lie, but he'll never know truly. I pressed the answer button and hurried from the room, into the hall, not stop as I started to speak into the phone. "You have some nerve, Grant," I remarked, keeping my voice low.

I moved fast, heading straight for my bunk. "It's not what you think," he said, only confirming my worst fear. It was truly Grant Ward calling me in the middle of the night. "If this is your sick, twisted idea of a booty call-" I started.

"Sam," he interrupted, stopping me quickly. "It's me."

"Yeah, and I'm me. So what?" I turned the hallway corner and landed at my door. My fingers entered in the code and the door slid open. I darted inside while he replied, letting the door zip closed behind me.

He exhaled tiredly. I can't imagine why. It is only six o'clock in the morning. "Listen closely. Everything in your life has been ultra classified and kept under lock and key since you joined S.H.I.E.L.D., but you told me something about where you lived."

His voice sounded hushed. Almost as if he were trying to whisper. It made my brow furrow, but I continued on. "And?" I prompted.

"Munich, Germany. You were born there but your mother took you to Vienna to live with your Aunt Christa. The next time so you saw your mother was at her funeral," he finished.

That caused me pause. I had in fact told him all of this. And obviously he was trying to prove something to me. But it didn't click for a split second. Then I got it. I ran my hand back through my hair with a low exhale. "Ward, no. Don't play games with me."

"It's not a game, okay? I'm telling the truth. I've never lied to you."

I crossed my arms. "Oh, really? How's your shoulder?"

"Just hear me out. My orders came straight from Fury, okay? I couldn't tell anyone- not even you," he explained, talking fast. "I don't have much time. But you need to know that Garrett has your file."

"My what?" My eyes widened.

"Your file, Garrett has it. He's almost decrypted it with the hard drive from Denver."

"How did he get my S.H.I.E.L.D. file?" I demanded.

He sighed on the other end. "Not S.H.I.E.L.D. It's your Hydra file. He needed the drive to decrypt it. He wants to know who you are."

I was fuming now, my blood boiling. "Grant Ward, you slimy little-"

"I had no idea what he was going to do with it, or what it was. My orders were to get the drive and get it to Garrett- that's it! I swear, Sam. I'm trying to get it back, but-"

"Get the drive, wipe the file, and meet me in Oregon- you know the place. Come _alone_."

At that, I ended the call. There was no word to describe this emotion. Anger. Depression. Sadness. Anxiety. And a little dash of old fashioned rage. I promptly exited my bunk and jogged back to Coulson.

He was still waiting. Somewhat patient looking and everything. And I had to go and burst his bubble, his expression turning serious at the look of my steeled features. "Garrett's about to get access to whatever information Hydra has on me," I announced, bluntly.

He paused. Like a doe in the headlights of the vehicle about to hit them straight on going ninety in a fifty-five. "What? How do you know that?"

"Ward called," I wiggle the SAT phone in my hand with bitter sarcasm. "Apparently he's trying to stop him, but that's not very likely considering the source."

"We need to find wherever they're hiding, now." I've never seen Coulson this direct, this impatient. But I stopped him by holding up a hand, my eyebrows knitted. "What's on the drive? My real name?" I questioned.

He sighed. "Everything. It was where we got our intel on you before you were recruited."

"Wait- so- wait a minute...does my father know I'm alive?" My stomach was turning into a mosh knot of anxiety. Never have I ever felt fear like this. Coulson remained quiet a moment. Judging his words carefully, no doubt.

Finally, he answered, "Yes."

"B-b-but- no! No, you told me...how is that possible?" I asked, my anxiety turning my words upside down. "He never knew I existed. I've never even seen him in anywhere but official S.H.I.E.L.D. photos and files. How could he know I'm alive?"

"We don't know," he shrugged a little, his expression a tone of helplessness.

"Well. That's reassuring. I'm going to my room now." I nodded once, unamused. Then I exited into the hallway. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take looking at him. Since when did he keep secrets from me? Especially with something like that?

My father, founder of Hydra, knows I exist. And here I thought I'd been safe all these years. When, in reality, he could have shown up and murdered me at any time. There's no concrete proof of his death. So, until there is, I'm going to be ready for him.

* * *

 **8 YEARS AGO**  
 **RUSSIAN HYDRA BASE**

My bullet left the chamber. But something was off. A shake of my hand, a tremble. Whatever you want to call it. It missed. I had one shot, and it missed. I quickly shrank back behind the safety of my hiding spot, but by then it was too late.

I'd given up my location. So I wriggled the knife from the sheath on my boot. It was just barely in my hand before the Hydra agent rounded my perch. Instinctively, I lunged, sinking the blade deep into his thigh.

He stumbled back with a pained cry and I took the second's opportunity to throw myself onto my right side, practically crawling. Clawing at the dirt to pull myself forward. All other functions of my limbs useless from the blood loss.

I only made it a few sparse inches. Then I heard a hard click. And everything went black. Next I saw light. But I was on my back, staring up at a white ceiling. Nothing made sense. I couldn't think. It was like my brain was an endless void.

All I could manage was a short flicker of my gaze left and right to survey the room. At first I'd thought maybe, just maybe, Hydra had done something to me. That I was one of their facilities. Being experimented on.

But then my eye caught sight of a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. And the most unsuspected familiar face. Grant was slumped in chair to the right of the bed I lay on. Still in his mission gear. Though I noticed the butterfly bandage on his temple.

The white bandaging on his leg. Red stained the front of his attire. Blood, no doubt. Was it mine? What happened to me? I don't remember. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I was pulled back. Back into sleep.

I didn't want to. I wanted to stay awake. I wanted to ask him, ask someone, what was going on. I had no choice in this. The next time I saw light, I was alone. This time I could moved my head a little to get a better look around.

But not by much. Not without a headache throbbing through my skull. The hiss of a door opening moved my eyes up. Just in time to catch Grant entering the small hospital-like room. Even though I knew there was no way this was a real hospital.

Not with what was inside me. My DNA. They'd ask too many questions. He looked surprised when he saw my eyes, but if anything he just looked relieved. It spread across his features in smooth waves, causing his shoulders to lower.

"Hey," his voice was quiet, soft. Like he somehow knew my ears were sensitive. "How do you feel?" He lowered himself into the chair to the right of me. Leaning forward to rest his forearms on the mattress beneath me.

A hand interlocking with mine. As if it were natural. Just something we've always done. But I don't remember a time when he ever held my hand. For a second, I couldn't formulate a reply.

How did I feel? How does one describe this feeling? I swallowed hard, opened my mouth. My first words were too quiet to hear. Extremely low and mumbled, garbled, and rasped. So I cleared my throat.

Only causing a sharp sting. But I tried again, my words louder this time. "I...feel terrible," I answered. "What happened...to me?"

Grant was quiet. I could tell he was thinking, trying to choose the right words. "You were shot, Sam, in the head. Almost point blank. I thought-" he stopped himself then, moving his gaze down. Away from mine.

If I could find a way to move them, I would have knitted my eyebrows. This was uncharacteristic. Very much so. What wasn't he saying? It ate at me. In a way I'd never felt before. It was like I couldn't breathe until he spoke again.

"I thought you were dead," he finally said, his eyes meeting mine once again.

I didn't know what to do. What to say. I don't comfort people. That's just not me, and it never has been. I tell you to rub dirt in the wound and walk it off. _Be a big boy, Grant_. That's what I would've said.

But that's not what came out. Instead, I returned the grip on my hand with what little strength I could pull from a muscle not completely shot. "I'm okay," I reassured. "I'm not leaving you." Oh, how I wish I'd known what came next.


	4. Chapter Four :: Look Alive

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **PORTLAND, OREGON**

I sighed. "This just might be the stupidest plan you've come up with yet, Coulson." I walked toward the sidewalk along the river's edge, on the backside of the park. Hands in my pockets. Eyes scanning for a familiar face.

Coulson exhaled in my ear piece. "Just look alive," he reminded. "There's still a hundred percent chance that this is a trap."

And yet here I am. Every piece of me wanted to believe this was real. But most likely it was not. So I kept my chin up and my eyes moving, just reaching the sidewalk across the grass. Any minute. Any minute and I'll see him again.

That face I dread. Those eyes that can see right through me. And the soul that betrayed me. "Got it, boss," I replied, dryly. Sure enough, right on cue, I caught sight of him. Walking straight toward me on the sidewalk from the other end of the park.

It was a small park, so it didn't take long. He slowed to a stand still just feet from me. Opening his mouth to speak. Before a word could leave his mouth, the palm of my hand connected with his cheek, and his head snapped left.

My eyes were sharp daggers as I glared at him, relishing in the pain I know that caused him. I'd added a little extra juice to ensure it left a sting. "You're a cockroach, Grant ward," I forced the words through clenched teeth. "If you think anything you say will be taken as truth-"

He sighed, fingers touched to his jaw. "Then I'm an idiot, I know."

"Did you bring the drive?"

"Yeah." His hand dug into his coat pocket, unearthing a black box a second later. He held it out to me. I didn't hesitate to take it, but I made sure not to touch his skin as I did, keeping an eye on him the whole transaction.

There was no way he was getting the better of me. "I take it Garrett already got an eyeful?" I asked, rhetorically.

"Most of it, yeah. But the rest was mysteriously corrupted during transport." He slid his hands in his pockets and my eyes flickered up to meet his. The expression on his face was calm, neutral, but slightly drooped.

Causing my eyebrows to furrow. "Did you want me to thank you?"

"I'm on your side, Sam," he reiterated.

"I have yet to see proof of that."

"What do you think this is?" he questioned, confused by my ignorance. As if it were obvious. "Why would I jeopardize everything I'm doing just for some stupid hard drive?"

I pursed my lips. "Because you're a moron."

"I did it for you," he resigned.

I gave a mock soft smile, tilting my head for effect. "Aw, I'm touched," I patronized, causing his expression to change to annoyance. "I have places to go. Have fun in hell."

With that, I turned on my heel, and headed back across the grass. I tucked the drive inside my pocket. Exhaling a long breath I'd been holding. "Someday, you'll understand," Ward's voice called after me.

I shook my head, twisting in my pace to see him. "I don't think I will," I disagreed. "Nice try, though." I didn't know what it was. But there was a sudden shift in his demeanor. A change in his expression. Something was wrong.

"Sam, look out!"

There was enough time for me to face forward, see what was coming, comprehend it enough to ditch the drive in a metal waste bucket. Then throw my hands up in surrender at the gaggle of armed men zipping to my location.

Shouts for my body to stay still filled my ears and a sharp shot of anger pierced my chest cavity. My teeth gritted instinctively against the emotion. Of course. "Hands behind your back!" one of the men ordered, walking toward me.

Yeah, that'll happen. I lowered my hands, he came within reach, and I lunged. My hand gripped the barrel of his rifle and I pivoted on my heel, placing my back to his chest, and sent my elbow into his face. A loud crack erupted.

Then I turned to face him, twisting his gun down. Hiking up my knee and thundering my heel into his abdomen. He stumbled back with an oof! as more men came at me. I shoved my foot into one, my heel up and into another's temple.

A white hot prickle filled my right side with a sudden ferocity that caught me completely off guard. I cried out, the pain bringing me to my knees. I'd hit the grass seconds before something hard rammed the side of my head. And it was black.

Everything was completely black. Voice filtered in. But no sight. Not for at three more painstaking minutes. Then it all hit me in a strong wave, and I groaned, feeling something solid against my spine. I forced my eyes to stay wide open. Taking the energy to survey the area.

It was a small dank room with poor lighting. A certain scent filled my nose, but I couldn't quite place it. It was something wet. Like mildew. A cold, smooth texture drew my eyes downward, to my hands in my lap.

Cuffs kept my wrists locked firmly together. I tugged lightly. Testing them. They felt heavier, denser. Obviously something I wouldn't be able to break. I hate to say it, but Garrett's smarter than he looks. I pushed myself up to my feet.

Not a second passed before a door on the other side of the room opened, the hinges whining loudly, then whining even loudly as it closed behind Ward. I only glared. "This wasn't my idea," he defended, almost immediately.

He stood just on the other side of a metal table near center room. I tilted my head, maintaining my glare. "Are you sure about that?" I questioned, rhetorically. Then I held up my wrists. "Because it looks like you got what you wanted from the start."

He looked to be holding back an eye roll. "Do you honestly think everything is about you?"

"Why else would I be here, Grant? Hm? Why else would we meet in a public place, only to let Hydra conveniently step right in and grab me? You knew the moment we talked I would say where to meet. You knew the whole time."

"Of course I knew," he replied, nodding, as if it were obvious. "But this wasn't the plan."

The door behind him squealed open, revealing a wide smiling Garrett. "Well, well, well," his voice echoed until he stepped into the room, the odor closing behind him. He stood just beside Ward. "As I live and breathe."

Once again, I only glared. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to bow at your feet or something?"

"Actually, I think _I'm_ supposed to be bowing to _you_ ," Garrett corrected.

"Just tell me why I'm here. I'm getting bored." I dropped back into the wall directly behind me to emphasize my point. Garrett only chuckled, as if he were a mixture of amused and proud. He pointed a finger at me, glancing to Ward beside him.

"There's that spunk you told me about," he commented.

"You realize no one says that anymore, right?" I asked, raising a brow.

Garrett continued to smile as he pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. "Why don't you take a seat- if it won't bother you too much, of course."

I looked to Ward. His expression was fairly neutral. But he nodded slightly, once, as if to say I could sit without Garrett trying something off the path. Garrett held out a hand in gesture to the chair across from him, on my side.

With a short toss of my eyes, I took the seat. Leaning back. Crossing my legs at the knee. "What do you want with me?" I asked, unamused.

"Truth be told, I have been looking for you for over fifteen years," Garrett explained, almost looking like he expected me to be happy at that fact. Like I was coming home to a long lost family member. "Now, I haven't always had such good intel, but when I found out you were with S.H.I.E.L.D.-"

"You put your best mole on it," I finished.

He only nodded. "Only the best for you."

"Okay, what is with that?" I snapped, sitting forward in my chair. "I am not some princess- nor am I your queen. I'm not a possession. I am an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Forgive me, I guess I came off a little too strong. I'm sorry. You were just a legend within Hydra. Some myth floating around from agent to agent for quite a while," Garrett apologized.

Dropping back in my chair, I scowled. "What do you want from me? Spit it out."

"To lead us," Garrett said, like it should've been obvious. Or he'd told me and couldn't believe I'd forgotten already. "You've got your father's blood, and that means you're a step above everyone else in here. These people will worship you. They'll die for you."

"And, what? I'm just supposed to ask how high?" I tilted my head patronizingly.

Ward sighed, crossing his arms as he looked to Garrett. "Maybe we should give her the night? It's too new for it to settle in yet. She needs time."

"Alright. We'll talk again in the morning," Garrett agreed. He pushed himself up from his chair. "Get some sleep if you can. You've got a long day ahead of you."

* * *

 **6 YEARS AGO**  
 **S.H.I.E.L.D. REHAB FACILITY**

"This is so stupid," I sighed. Grant gave me a look that said I was being the ridiculous, one of the only expression that was ever constantly on his face anymore. He lowered the dumb bell into my palm, keeping my knuckles against his hand. "Just try it," he pressed.

"What am I even doing?" I questioned. "What will this prove?"

"It'll help you gain strength in your damaged muscles. All you do is just lift the weight."

"Grant-"

"Sam," he stopped me, looking me right in the eye. His features were stern, firm. But his voice was a soft only contrasting his demeanor. "Lift the weight." Looking into his eyes I couldn't find anything else to complain about.

Nothing to push this off any farther. This was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as trying to lift Thor's hammer. Pointless. But Grant was certain this would help me in some way. So I gripped the stupid little blue weight.

I'd only been able to grip things within the last week. It was so small and yet it meant so much. I couldn't feel anything in my arm. Therefore, it was hard to feel if I was really using any muscles. Though I pressed on, trying to act like I knew what I was doing.

Trying to lift this small but extremely heavy object. Three pounds. It was only three pounds. And yet I only made it off his hand by half an inch before having to drop it, shaking my head. "I can't," I said. "I can't do it anymore."

"That's okay, you don't have to. The point is that you tried," Grant assured.

"It barely moved," I pointed out. He stood, taking the weight back to the rack of various sized dumb bells. My comment only elicited a grumbling sigh on his way back over to me. But I interrupted any disagreement but throwing my next words out before he could. "I'm in a wheel chair for a reason, Grant."

"You're not going to be in that thing forever."

I turned my wheels toward him, giving him my best disbelieving expression. "It's going to be a while."

With an elongated heavy exhale, he knelt in front of me, resting his palms on my knees. So casually. Like it was so natural. When, in reality, it felt anything but. "Listen to me," he said, looking me in the eye again. "You're going to get better. The more you work at it, the more it'll come back."

He seemed so sure. So certain. As if all it would take was lifting some weights and I'd be the me I was before a bullet sliced through the left side of my brain. But the truth was that I am different. I see it myself every passing day.

I didn't even remember my middle name until a month after my last surgery. Even now, I'm still unsure as to if it's actually the right one. My eyes shifted down, to my lap Another pointless thing: emotions. "Maybe so...but, um, will I get myself back?" I glanced up in the silence, and it was a mistake.

Because right then it was hitting him. Finally clicking. Revealing an understanding followed by sympathetic hurt in his eyes. "I'm not me. The me I know is gone," I quickly added, before he could reply. "I don't think the same, I don't see the same. I don't feel the same."

"That's completely natural," he tried to reason.

I shook my head, though he kept talking, too far into his rationalization to stop himself. "Grant, stop," I tried.

"-every one of us has had life threatening injuries, and not a single one of us feels the same-"

"Just stop."

"-if you need to talk to someone, do it. It's okay-"

"Ward!" I had to shout, garbling the word in my already raspy voice and muddled accent. Finally, he stopped. Mid-sentence, paused before he could say more, a surprised expression coloring his features. "I am not everyone. Just stop trying to fix me."

"I'm trying to fix you," he defended.

"Then what is all this? What is this stupid weight training?" I questioned, grilling unnecessarily.

He exhaled. "Sam. I care about you. I just want to help."

My shoulders dropped, turning my head to look away. Finally breathing out. Trying to retract. To calm down. Swallowing my pride, the one thing I could never lose, I looked back to his face. He looked sorry. Like a kicked puppy.

Unknowing of what he was punished for. I tilted my head slightly, letting my features soften. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I just...it's all just a lot to adjust to."

I placed my hands atop his, still resting on my knees. He turned his hands over to grip mine in return. An understanding closed-mouthed smile appearing on his lips. "It's okay," he assured, nodding. "You can scream at me if you want to. I can take it."

A small chuckle bubbled up from my chest. "You can, can you? I'll have to remember that."

"And I'm going to regret saying that," he decided, sarcastic in tone, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. Another chuckle escaped me, unable to hold it in. Sliding my hands onto his cheeks caused him to look at me in time for me to kiss him.

Capturing his lips between mine. Setting fire to any doubtful thoughts in my mind.

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**  
 **UNKNOWN LOCATION**

My forehead dropped onto my arms atop the table. The cuffs made it nearly impossible to get comfortable. The screaming of the hinges broke my chain of thought. Sending a jolt of adrenaline into my veins.

Sitting upright, eyes flickering to the door. It opened. Revealing the last person I wanted to see. "Good, you're awake," Ward said, closing the door behind him. I groaned, leaning back into my seat. I noticed he was holding something, but I didn't care to find out what.

I was too annoyed. "Are you here to brainwash me?"

"Not sure if sharing a slice of cake is a brainwashing tactic," Ward sarcastically thought about it, taking steps toward the chair opposite me. "But, whatever you want to call it, I guess." He sat in the chair, sliding a square plate onto the table.

Sitting atop it was a thick slice of a chocolate cake with green icing. I glanced at it for a fraction of a second, but my eyes were too trained on Ward. "What is that?" I asked, as if I'd given up trying to figure it out myself.

Lifting one shoulder, shaking my head lightly. He placed a metal fork on the table in front of me and then pulled out his own. "Come on, like old times. It's your favorite. Chocolate with lime icing."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Is this your idea of a peace offering?"

"Sure, why not?"

He pushed out the words around a mouthful of cake. This is the part of the scene where I throw it in his face and walk right out the unlocked door. But instead of doing the right thing or the smart thing, I humor him.

There's got to be a point to whatever this is. I leaned forward and picked up the fork. "Oh, here, let me take care of those," Ward offered, digging into his pocket, causing me to pause. Then he leaned across the table.

Plunged a key into the side of the cuffs. And, with a twist, they were off. They dropped and clanged against the metal table. He leaned back in his seat. Crossing his arms in front of him on the table, still eating.

I sighed, mirroring the position, then diving my fork into the dessert inches from my arms. "I take it you don't do this for all your prisoners?" I assumed, calmly. I pulled away a small piece. Putting it in my mouth. Trying to act neutral.

Ward shook his head. "Not typically."

"This can't be easy for you, especially considering how we left things."

"Oh, you mean when I said I loved you and you threw it in my face?" I paused, eyeing him. He did the same. Neither of us flinching. Neither letting up. He smiled patronizingly. "Yeah, it can't be."

"You know why I left."

He looked confused then, still patronizing. Now just being a jerk. "I do? Hm, I must've missed it."

I couldn't believe him. Honestly? After all this time, he still doesn't know? "Don't you get it, Grant?" I questioned, lowering my voice. The seriousness caused his expression to falter, dropping. Sobering. "All I know is that you left. And you kept the engagement ring I gave you," he shrugged.

I could feel it. My throat closing. Sending a wave of water into my eyes. The memory was too much. I could remember too much of it. The last time I cried, I found out my mother died. I haven't cried since.

Now I was only confused. "I did not leave you because I did not love you enough. I left because I loved you too much," I clarified. Heat fell down my face, but I didn't care. I stared him down. "So whatever you tell yourself at night to make all of this okay is a lie."

He leaned forward. His eyes keeping mine stuck in a singular place. Sliding his hand down my forearm to my wrist, uncrossing my arms to take my hand. I was reluctant. Fighting the instinctive urge to back away. To slap him again.

But he held me still with his gaze. "Hit me."

"What?"

"Don't ask, just hit me," I felt metal press into my palm as he pushed his point. "Make it look good. We're on camera. Left, left, right, left, straight up. Don't look back. Come on, Sam, just hit me."

With my body jerking back, my hand went foreword, sending five knuckles into the side of his jaw. He shot right from the force, groaning. His voice was a quiet whisper. "That's my girl." I'd just barely caught the words.

 _Not anymore_ , I had to remind myself. Wiping at my cheeks I jumped to my feet. Ran to the door. Opened it. And I didn't look back.


	5. Chapter Five :: Better Off Dead

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **UNKNOWN LOCATION**

No one was expecting it. Their precious captive escaping right before them. A guy in Kevlar and a ball cap looked to be only a kid. Maybe early twenties. And he was the first to raise a gun. Aiming it right for my chest.

It wasn't hard to disarm him. With a swift grip on the gun, a duck to the left to miss the bullet, and a fist to his face. Because Hydra didn't know how to train their runts, I was now armed with an AK. The kid hollered, "Prisoner loose! Prisoner loo-"

I slammed my boot into his temple, shutting him up. But the damage was already done. I tried to remember the directions Ward gave. Sprinting into a hall to the left. Checking the gun for ammunition. It was fully loaded.

So I kept running. There was a fork in the road, a T in the hallway. Two gunman rounded the corner from the right and I slowed. My gun was up, their guns were up. I fired. Bullets rippled up the front of the first to walk in.

Dropping in front of the second, who was just waiting or an opportunity. Obviously Garrett doesn't want me alive. Good. Because I don't want him alive either. I fired a shot, diving to the right side of the hall.

The bullet hit his thigh and he cried out as it tore through his flesh, dropping to one knee. As I righted myself I aimed the AK. Firing one again at the poor sap in charge of reacquiring me. This time it was a head shot.

Shouts and hollers from behind left no time to feel remorse. I was up to my feet and running in a blink. Reciting the instructions as I bolted around the corner to the left. Left, left, right, left, straight up. That was the second left.

Next was a right. The hall wound right just up ahead. And, like the idiot I am, I tore around that corner. Not knowing it opened into a store house of crates stacked ceiling high. Filled with at least twenty men. Armed.

It was too late to back out once I'd stepped foot into the room because, as soon as I did, they saw me. "Hey! Stop!" They shouted at me. But I followed the wall to the left, behind a wall of crates and boxes.

Following all the way to the end and turning right, slipping behind the small hiding space. At least then I could catch my breath. Count my bullets. Count the men I'd seen based on my memory. I had enough as long as I didn't miss.

Something caught my eye, on my right. My head turned just in time to drop to the floor to miss an incoming spray of bullets. They pelted the boxes behind me, spraying dust and particles across my back and onto the floor.

I rolled onto my side and returned fire. The shooter was perched a row over with an AK like mine. He dropped just before another arose, and I quickly crawled around the corner to duck behind the row in between us.

I had to think. There was an exit strategy here and I needed to find it. I got up to my feet, bending below the line of boxes, and hurried to the other end. Peering around the corner. It was a split second decision to be made.

Get to the other side of the room and take a right out the other side. That is, if Ward wasn't just leading me into a trap. Would he really risk letting me get away for a stupid joke? And with the obvious planning put into it?

No. This couldn't be fake. I might actually have a chance. There was only one way out for these Hydra agents. In a body bag. I aimed the AK over the edge of the boxes and started firing. I tried for head shots, but as they began ducking, I had to take what I could get.

It was a spray of bullets they tagged everyone at least once. Thinning the herd down to maybe five. All of whom ran and dispersed. With the clear path to the door, I rounded the crates and started walking. "Stop!"

I slowed to a lurching halt. Pausing. One of the scattered remaining was aiming his nine millimeter at me, taking slow steps from the left. I sighed. Checked my ammo. Empty. So I dropped the AK, let it clatter to the floor.

Then I turned to face the miscreant. "Du siehst nervös aus. Hast du das schon einmal gemacht?" I asked, calmly. His face cork screwed. Confused. "Sprichst du Deutsch?"

Out of pure confusion, the poor man shook his head.

"I said, 'You look nervous. Have you done this before?'" I tilted my head. My expression light, patronizing. His response was a scatterbrained paused, eyes darting left to right. I took that to me no. I nodded, taking steps forward. "Then you might want to give me your gun."

His grip tightened on his firearm. "I'm not giving you anything, lady."

I shrugged. "So be it."

With a quick grip on the barrel of his gun, a twisted quickly. A loud crack followed. Along with a cry of pain. I pulled the gun from his hand and rammed the butt of it into his temple. He dropped and I was on my way.

Rounding the corner, running, I checked ammunition. Nearly full. I made it to what appeared to be the main room of the base. It only held a handful of partially armed men, along with Garrett. I didn't stop. Didn't hesitate.

I kept pace through the middle of the room. Gaining aimed guns, but no one moved. Garrett wasn't looking until someone shouted. And even then it was to late. He turned to face me, in time to meet my fist across his nose.

Grabbing a handful of his shirt, I yanked his back against my chest, aiming my glock to the side of his forehead as I dragged him with me a step back. "Shoot and he dies!" I rose my voice to be heard. Just as the words left my mouth, there was Ward.

Running in to stop several feet from me, aiming his gun. "Sam, let him go," he said, seriously. I only responded with a glare. "Come on, Sam, what are you doing?"

"No one shoot," Garrett ordered.

Ward stared me down. "Let. Him. Go."

His eye brows twitched up. A gesture lasting a fraction of a second. Just slow enough for someone like me to catch it. Straight up. That was the next direction. On a mental count of three, I gave a good shove to Garrett's back.

He stumbled off to the side and I backed into something hard. Still aiming my gun, I glanced back. It was a chair. With a small lever of sorts on the side. Without thinking, I sat, and pulled the lever. And then I was rising.

"No one shoot," Garrett reiterated his order as Ward lowered his gun. I was surprised when the chair arose inside a barber shop. There were less inconspicuous places, I suppose. But this definitely wouldn't be my first choice for a secret evil lair.

I palmed the metal in my hand as I slipped through the glass door, a bell sounding above my head. The fresh air was nice. But I was on a mission. This little thing Ward had pressed into my hand was a key. To the best of my knowledge, it was a safety deposit box key.

To what bank, I don't know. The next task is getting to the nearest available phone. Coulson needs to know that I'm okay. Just not coming back to the bus. Not yet, anyway. I can imagine how I looked.

Running down the street. Elbowing through a dense population to get as far away as possible. Probably just some street trash. Some loser that doesn't know how to watch where they're going. Yeah, that's it. It's not like I'm running for my life.

Whatever is going on in Ward's mind, there must be at least a piece of the Ward I knew still left in there. Otherwise I'd be dead. Nothing in my mind doubts he would kill me on the spot if he were truly one hundred percent Hydra.

Then again, I'm too important to Hydra to die. Garrett just scratches the surface of wing-nuts that want to worship me. As though I were actually something to be worshipped. I need to know how it started. Where was the leak?

Where did the information slip out enough for it to become a legend within Hydra? Someone had to of spilled their guts about something. I mulled the topic over as I ducked into an alley to the left. Following it to the street at the other side.

I once spilled my guts. But not all at once. I divulged my secrets in little bits. Little segments of weakness. Times when I actually thought I could trust the ears digesting them. Guess that was a slip, too. I made it at least four blocks.

Of course, not knowing where I was, it would be hard to navigate. Except it wasn't. Everyone I heard was speaking Spanish. So I ducked into the closest place of business. A clothing store. I made a b-line for the front desk. "¿Puedo usar el teléfono?" I asked.

The man behind the counter looked confused, but he nodded. "Es en la parte posterior. Sígueme." He motioned for me to follow, and I did. Spanish wasn't something I was my best at. But I got by enough to make it work.

The shopkeeper lead the way into a small storage room at the back of the store. There was a phone mounted to the wall. He gestured to it. "Tome todo el tiempo que usted necesita, señorita," he said.

"Gracias," I nodded once in return.

He exited the small room and I sidled up to the phone. Trying to remember the number. We always had a number. Coulson and I. It was for extreme emergencies. Or those rare times when I acted like a real girl and needed someone to talk to.

Odds are, Coulson ditched this phone years ago. But trying probably wouldn't hurt. I picked up the handset, held it to my ear as I dialed to the best of my knowledge. Then it rang. Ringing is good. That means it's at least still in service.

But then my heart stopped at a familiar voice. "What's the weather like in Montana?"

"Luftig, blau und schön," I answered, through a full-bodied sigh of relief.

"Where are you?" Coulson asked, his tone deeply serious. Almost protective. Like I was his high strung teenage daughter that snuck out, got into trouble, and was calling for a ride home. "I'm not sure...um..." I glanced up, around, and I saw it. The Cuban flag. "Cuba, I think."

There was a scoff-like sound. "Cuba?"

"Yes. But- look, Coulson, don't come for me. There's something I need to do. I just needed you to know that I'm safe," I spoke quickly.

"Wha-" his voice suddenly hushed dramatically. "-Sam. What are you doing?"

I exhaled. "I have to do this alone. Stay in the sky."

With that said, I ended the call. If Hydra's as technologically advanced as they're supposed to be I need to get moving. Most likely they know I called Coulson. And if that's true, they know I'm going solo. This is the time to get moving.

So I negotiated a deal with the shopkeeper. I'd fix his radio and I'd get a free change of clothes. It was an easy fix. So I was changed and on my way in less than twenty minutes. Jeans, a light jacket, and a ball cap never hurt anyone.

I tried to blend in. Act like a tourist. A silly American far from home just looking to get away. I was like that once. When I left S.H.I.E.L.D. Though I think I had a much better reason than being rich and bored. But I don't think Ward would say the same.

* * *

 **6 YEARS AGO**  
 **S.H.I.E.L.D. REHAB FACILITY**

I exhaled through my nostrils, then drew in a slow breath. Savoring all the sweet smells from the outdoors. The fresh cut grass. That after-rain moist air. I'd been missing it all, cooped up inside. Working on my exercises.

Trying to bring back something I'll never regain. But this was something I truly needed. Fresh air. And the sky was clear. Showing through a vast array of constellations. Probably only a handful I could name off hand. "It's beautiful, isn't?" I breathed.

"Yeah," Grant agreed.

My eyes shifted lightly to the right. He wasn't even looking at the sky. He was looking at me. Typical. But I kept my mouth shut and focused on the stars. "Lorenzo, my uncle...he had an observatory behind the house," I remembered aloud. "Every night he would take me with him to look at the stars. To try to name them all."

"Did you?" Grant shifted in his position, bettering his view of me. "Name them all, I mean."

I lifted my right shoulder, the only one I could technically lift anyway. "Mm. Sometimes I was close. But most I never got anywhere near the word 'all'."

"Hey, finally something you're not good at." He nudged me ever so slightly with his elbow in a gesture to match his teasing tone. I gave a small smile, a light curvature of my lips. Honestly any action I take is made from sheer cluelessness.

This is not what S.H.I.E.L.D. trained me for. Small talk. Attraction. Romance. None of it came in the handbook nor was it imprinted on me when I was young. I never got to see my parents in love. My mother tried to act normal.

Like she wasn't breaking, dying inside a little more each day. But I could tell. I could see it in her eyes. She was never happy. Not even with me by her side. Sometimes I think maybe I was too much of a reminder of my father for her.

Too much so for my presence to truly mean anything. I'm even too much of a reminder of my father for myself sometimes. Grant returned the smile. It fit better on him than it did on me. Slowly, he leaned in.

And that smile felt like fire aginast mine. Moving in sync, deepening. I let myself feel every ounce of it. Running my fingers through his hair. His hands against the skin of my cheekbones. It was warm, inviting. But it nagged at me.

The pressure between my eyes. The head ache threatening to take me over. No surprise, I was the first to break the kiss, pulling back. But I couldn't force myself to go any farther than a few inches. His forehead leaned into mine, and I took a deep breath.

"I don't know how to do this," I said. It was a bit of a confession. But it was too airy, too quiet. It took him a second to reply. If he was as out of breath as I was, I can understand why. "How to do what?" he finally asked.

"This. Us. A relationship," I clarified, speaking up an octave. "Especially one I have to hide." I opened my eyes, and his did the same a heartbeat after. We both knew what it meant. If I showed feelings for anyone within the agency, Coulson would tell mean no.

That I couldn't have it. He knew why. I knew why. But Grant didn't. All he knew was that I had strict rules that were different from his. Because everything about me was classified. Because I was more agent than human.

He sighed. "Sam...I want this. More than anything else in my life right now. I want to be with you. And if I have to pass notes in class and leave love letters in your locker before third period, I will."

"We'd be like double agents," I pointed out.

"Then let's be double agents," he said, wearing a smile. "We can have codenames and everything. Whatever you want."

I cocked an eyebrow, fighting a smile of my own. "Even if I wanted to be Princess Unicorn?"

"Why not?" he shrugged. I laughed little at that. Seeing him happy was enough to brighten up an army. It washed over me in a wave, the happiness. The joy. That little thing I've always told myself I couldn't have.

And yet, I had it. Watching him make some goof ball facial expression while describing a list of possibilities for his codename. Like he somehow knew it would make me smile. It would make me laugh. Like that was his purpose for breathing right then.

Finally, we decided on Captain Biceps and Miss Artillery. In a drunken-like humor it seemed like a good idea. Through the laughter, he kissed me, and I kissed him back. And it seemed like forever. Forever, such a huge and vast thing, all in one small action.

If that were even possible. Part of me doubted it was, and blamed hormones for my stupidity. But the rest of me wanted to dream. To be a hopeless romantic for a change. To believe in it. The thing I wanted, but could not see.

And I had it. Everything I ever wanted in one night. It was perfect.


	6. Chapter Six :: Liar Liar

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **COLOMBUS, OHIO**

It took a little longer than I expected, but I was finally stateside. And that meant I needed to track down whatever bank this key belonged to. So a quick call to my friend Andy at Cal Tech helped a lot.

Sending him a photo of the key, he was able to figure out where I needed to go. First Bank of Ohio. Why Ward would have a safety deposit box key from Ohio of all places was behind me. But I got on the first available Amtrak.

Now here I am. Standing in front of the bank. Wishing he'd never slipped me the darn thing. Thankfully Andy was able to print up some fake documents for me. He faxed them to the nearest postal supply store.

Clenching my jaw, I pushed through the glass doors into the lobby. It was fairly empty. Only a few customers here and there. They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, walking up to the front desk, I'm a giant fluffy Maine coon.

The woman behind the desk wore a headset, a computer in front of her. She smiled warmly. "Good afternoon. What can I do for you today?" she asked. I slowly slid the papers Andy faxed onto the counter between us, along with my fake ID, as I began to speak.

"My husband was killed in a car accident last year, and..." I dug into my jacket pocket, unearthing the small key. I dropped it atop the papers. "I found this in his office."

"Alright. I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs.-" A quick dart down of her eyes. "-Carter. I'll see if I can find which box this goes to and I'll be right back."

I nodded as she slinked from her chair. She disappeared through a door into the wall behind the desk, and I sighed. Carter as the name was Andy's idea. He thought it would be funny. I, for one, looked up to Agent Carter.

Her niece's not half bad a person, either. Coulson often joked that they dubbed me fifteen because thirteen was already taken by the time I joined the agency. It didn't take long for the teller to get back to the desk. She smiled again. "Okay. It looks like this goes to box number two-twenty-one. Would you like to open it today?" She clicked a couple times on her computer, typing something in.

I nodded. "Yes, please."

"Alright, then. Follow me." She walk around the left end of the desk and started across the lobby. I followed her into a small office. She held the door as I stepped in, then she said, "I'll be right back with your box," before closing the door behind her as she left.

I sighed. This was taking too much time. Odds are the security footage was already being scrutinized by Hydra agents. If that is in fact Garrett's play. I have no trouble agreeing that it is. Reluctantly, I sat in one of the chairs at the wooden table in the corner of the room.

It had glass walls. All sleek and modern. But this table looked like they pulled it out from a dumpster behind a Goodwill. I timed at least ten minutes. Sitting, waiting. Then the teller resurfaced with the box. "Sorry for the wait," she apologized, stepping up beside the table. She set the box on the table with the key. "I'll leave you to your privacy."

"Thank you." I nodded once, standing. She nodded in return and promptly left the small room. I watched her walk across the lobby. Taking the split second to re-canvas. Still practically empty. I turned to the box on the table in front of me.

Anything could be inside this giant waste of my time. With a heavy sigh, I shoved the key in the lock and gave it a twist. The lid clicked. Allowing me to slide it open. Revealing yet another key. This time it was a set.

Two silvers keys on a matching ring with a yellow Self-Storage logo tag. My shoulders dropped as I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. Really, Grant? You're gonna make me work for this one, aren't you? I'm gonna be halfway across the city by the time I reach the end.

It was pointless. Something caught my eye and I glanced up. A talk, broad shouldered male was at the front counter. Ball cap, long coat. Only a hint of his dark skin showing above the collar. Peterson. I knew Garrett couldn't help himself.

I grabbed the key set and stuffed it in the inner pocket of my jacket. Then I was out the door. Slipping left, walking fast. Slow enough to not be noticed. But fast enough to get me out of there in time. Pushing through the door, the fresh air hit me.

And I felt more calm. But my pulse rate was steadily climbing as I broke into a run around the side of the building. High-tailing it up the block. Then I ducked into the nearest alley. Pressing my back into the bricks.

Peering around the corner. Nothing. I waited. Watching an extra minute. Still nothing. For now, it was clear it seemed. I dug into my pocket and unearthed my burner phone. Dialed in Andy's number. Held it to my ear as it rang.

"Did you die? You died, didn't you?" Andy's sarcastic yet serious voice came through, and I exhaled. Shaking my head at his faked stupidity. I glanced around the corner again as I replied. "No, idiot, I'm alive," I said. "I need some GPS action. Where's CubeSmart Self Storage?"

"Um...hold on a sec...3344 Morse Rd. You still in Ohio?"

I pulled back from the corner. "Yeah. How long will it take to get there?"

"About two and half hours walking," he answered. "Just follow Pearl, take a right onto Gay street, then a left on Cleveland avenue, Follow that through onto Westerville, and then it's a left onto Morse road. Can't miss it."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

"I'm waiting by the phone, my love." His sarcastically dreamy, wistful voice elicited a small chuckle as I hung up the phone. I checked one more time. Just to be sure. A edge of doubt hit my stomach. Maybe I was wrong?

Maybe I'm just on edge, paranoid or sorts? I suppose. But regardless I followed Andy's instructions, staying as close as possible to the buildings and shady sections of street. Being out in the open and wondering around drew nothing but attention.

And here I was, like a veal prepared and ready to eat on Hydra's silver platter. About halfway there and that's when I notice it. Keeping an on your surroundings is key when running from sinister forces.

Anyone will tell you that. And when you do this successfully, you tend to notice when someone is tailing you. The guy in the long coat from the bank has been following me for at least three blocks. So I took an unexpected turn right.

Onto a corner street. I slowed to a stop. Edged up to the corner. And waited. As soon as he rounded the corner, I grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket front and hauled him against the side of the building behind me.

Obviously it was not Mike Peterson. If it was, I would've been pudding. But I didn't expect it to be Nick Fury of all people. I immediately let him go. Though I kept my close proximity. Glaring at him sharply. "What do you think you're doing?" I questioned.

"Last I checked I was following _you_ ," he answered, sounding offended by my actions.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead or something?" I crossed my arms.

He readjusted his jacket with a huff. "Someone's gotta tell you how to do your job."

"I don't need a babysitter, Fury. I'm doing just fine on my own, thank you very much."

His expression changed. Head tipping down to show his eye above his sunglasses, showing it's round shape, raising his eyebrows. With that right there. Just with that. He was telling me I was full of it. "Really? 'Cause you didn't even know I was here."

I scoffed. "I've been watching you the last three blocks!"

"And _I've_ been watching _you_ for eight," he pointed out.

"What do you want?" I sighed, shrugging up my shoulders tiredly. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm kind of busy taking down a Hydra agent."

Fury nodded. "I heard you were on Ward's case. He was a good kid. Top of his class. Well, you were top of the class but, who's counting, right?"

"Did you do it? Did you give him this mission?" I demanded the answer, squinting my eyes in a stern glare. He exhaled, sliding his hand into his pant's pocket. "Well, seeing as your halfway to the answer, I'll let you figure that one out," he resigned.

I scowled. "Did you pick him for this because of me?"

"If I were going to attempt something like this," he started, eliciting an eye roll. "I would've picked him straight out of the academy. And only if he was your type."

With a sharp stab of anger to my chest I lurched forward. Grabbed his jacket and slammed his back against the building behind him. "What, do you think this is a game?" I spat. He didn't look angered or offended.

More like understanding. And that only made me even more frustrated. "Grant could die at any minute in there with Garrett, or get shot by one of ours, and you're acting like this is some walk in the park," I pressed, through clenched teeth. "Choose your next words carefully."

"This ain't my first rodeo, kid. And from what I can tell, it isn't his either," he replied, neutrally.

I let go of him with a shove, taking steps backward. I couldn't believe this. I'd looked up to the great Nick Fury since Coulson first picked me up. But this was absurd. He was so nonchalant. Shaking my head, I started walking.

Sliding my hands in my pockets. I didn't get too far before he called, "You're getting emotional in your old age."

"You mean I'm acting like a human being?" I asked, rhetorically. My pace slowed to a stop on the sidewalk corner across the street, and I turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if that's such a bad thing, Director."

"Just watch yourself, fifteen."

I nodded once. "Yes, sir."

And then I was gone. Down the street. Following Andy's directions. But it nagged at me. The way he called me fifteen. Like I was just a number. A thing. An object. It made me wonder if he'd ever seen me as a human being.

Or maybe he never did. And I've always just been something he could use. I'm just another weapon in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s arsenal. Maybe that's why he never minded times like these, when I would get rough, pin him against a wall.

Because I wasn't just another soldier. Acting out. It didn't bother him. So he never pulled rank with me. I finally made it to CubeSmart. A few minutes off time, but at least I got there. I headed straight into the gated area.

I dug the keys out of my pocket. Flipped them over. There was a number in black Sharpie smudged across the tag. E23. At least, that's the best I could interpret from the odd font. It had to be Ward's handwriting.

He writes like a doctor. I sighed lightly, walking up to the front desk. The man behind it looked to have just finished talking with a customer. He turned to face me and plastered on a smile. "Good afternoon, ma'am. What can I do for you?" he asked.

Inhaling, I turned on my American accent. "Hi, um, this is kind of embarrassing," I leaned into the counter on my forearms. "But my brother needs this weird, like, ink cartridge thing- anyway, I'm supposed to get it, he gave me the key, but I've never been here so I don't know where it is."

He nodded, listening. "Oh, no problem. What's the unit?"

"E twenty-three," I answered, standing upright.

"Alright, follow me."

He walked around the desk, gestured for me to follow. And I did. You'd be surprised how long it took me to perfect the charade I like to call the Ditzy American. I pretend I'm clueless and have no idea what I'm doing. That's when I get what I want.

It's only ever not worked once, and I had to literally break necks to get out of that one. But that's a story too long for right now. I followed the guy through the gate and down the isles of red-doored units. All the way to the section marked E. "Here we are," he smiled, turning to face me as we reached twenty-three. "Let me know if you have any questions or need some more help."

I nodded, smiling back. "Thank you so much, you're a life saver."

"No problem." He started back off for the office. And I let my smile disappear. It didn't belong on my face. Not anymore. I shoved the key into the lock hanging from the unit's handle and the top popped up as it twisted.

Looks like I got the number right. I unhitched the lock and hefted up the door. I thought maybe, just maybe, this would be a trap or a dud and the locker would be empty. That this would be just another trick.

But it wasn't empty. There was a table against the left wall. Cluttered with various items. An unorganized looking bulletin board hanging on the section of wall just above. Gun cases lined the right side of the unit.

I took a step inside. There was a flashlight on the table. So I nabbed it and pulled down the door. Clicking on the light. I looked at the board first. Various pictures and news paper clippings were pinned to it. There was no obvious pattern to it.

Nothing that I could see, anyway. Then the light stopped on something familiar. A vertical photo pinned to the board. Right below an article clipping of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s public exposure. The photo was of us.

I recognized it as one we'd taken to keep our cover in Ibiza. To act like tourists and take abnormally cute selfies in front of literally everything. I hadn't realized he'd kept it. Let alone printed it out. Something pulled at my stomach.

Something I knew to be guilt. My fingers carefully plucked the photo from the board. Getting a better look. It was easier to take a trip down memory lane that way. I remember this specific shot. We're standing in front of a fountain.

His arm is around my shoulders, our finger locked together loosely on my right. He'd kissed my temple before this was taken. Maybe that's why my eyes looked so bright. The smile was fake. All for the act, I'd said.

But now, looking back on it, that wasn't it at all. No. I was smiling because I was in love. Idiotically, stupidly in love. I forced my eyes from the photo. Moved them back to the board. There had to be something here.

Some kind of proof he was on my side if he was going to send me all the way here. He risked his life to help me escape for this. So I took it serious. I combed over every inch of the board. Rummaging everything on the table.

Checked the gun cases, too, just in case. Nothing screamed allegiance to S.H.I.E.L.D. But nothing told me he'd changed sides either. From what I could gather from the board, Grant's been on this trip at least since Russia.

That would make sense. Considering all he's said about his mission. That he's done this all for me. Seeing what Hydra did, shooting me in the head and leaving me to die, could have been the catalyst that pushed him over the edge to accept.

And if that's the case, then this really is all my fault. I dropped my weight onto the gun cases. Sitting. Taking a moment to breath in the stagnant air. I leaned my elbow into my knees. Dropping my face into my hands.

Rubbing my dry, tired eyes. Taking into account all of this, all of what Fury's said, and all of Grant's remarks. There's no doubt in my mind that this is real. He couldn't be lying. But there was still a chance, I suppose.

If I was being smart I wouldn't throw that out just yet. A scrapping sound caused me to jolt up. On alert. On edge. Looking for the source. That's when I glanced down. And I saw white. The photo had fallen from my lap, I deduced.

So I knelt to pick it up. But, once I got down, I couldn't move. In black scribbles was written _WHAT YOU'RE FIGHTING FOR_ on the white of the photo's backing. I dropped backward onto my tail bone on the cement flooring.

Physically taken aback. It hit me in one crushing wave. And I lost it. I couldn't hold back the tears in my eyes nor did I even try. It all hit me then. All of it once. What I'd done. What I'd lost. How stupid I truly was.

Then I remembered Fury's words. Watch yourself. And I forced it back in. Standing. Wiping off my cheeks and my under eyes. Stuffing the photo in my coat pocket so I wouldn't be tempt to look at it again. I had no time for this.

Neither did Ward. I unearthed my burner and dialed Coulson's number. He answered on the third ring. "How's the weather in-"

"Dark and raining. Where are you?" I wasn't in the mood. The answer to the call sign would've been enough. But my emo butt had to add in a depressed, monotone voice to it. He paused a moment. "I should be asking you that. Everything okay?"

"Not really. I just...I need to see you," I left my shoulders deflate. "Where are you?"

"I'll send you the address. We'll talk when you get here."

"Deal." At that, I ended my end of the call. Then I awaited Coulson's message.


	7. Chapter Seven :: Motel California

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **BURBANK, CALIFORNIA**

I rapped my knuckles against the solid wood of the door, then took a step back. Sliding my hands into my pockets against the brisk of the night. It'd taken longer than I'd thought to get here. Way, way too many public buses.

It made me miss having private S.H.I.E.L.D. transport. There was a moment of nothingness. And then the door pulled open. Revealing a relieved looking Coulson. "I know we don't really do that sort of thing," he said, causing me to raise an eyebrow. "But can I hug you?"

"Knock yourself out." Before I'd even gotten the words out, he was latched onto me like a leach. I hugged him back. Considering part of me was relieved as well. But the majority of me was just tired. After a second he stepped back.

Allowing me entrance to the room. I stepped in and he closed the door. The last person I expected to see was standing not too far into the room. Arms crossed, looking like she didn't really want to be seeing me there either.

Coulson was quick to speak. "Hill helped us get away from Talbot," he explained. I slowly nodded. Giving nothing but a blank stare. Of course, to the outside eye I probably looked like I just crawled out of a dumpster. Which is exactly how I feel. "Don't worry, I'm not staying long," Maria assured, with a sigh. "I heard you went rogue. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I did," I nodded once.

"Why don't you go tell the team you're here? They're outside," Coulson suggested. That man someone always knew when I needed saving. I gave a mock salute and made for the door. Stepping through the sliding glass.

Closing it behind me. "Sam," Simmons's voice caused me to glance right. She and Fitz were sitting on the edge of the pool, their bare calves in the water. She smiled at me, and Fitz gave a halfhearted wave. "It's good to have you back."

I nodded. Tried to return the gesture of a smile. "Good to _be_ back."

"Agent fifteen, as I live and breathe." A familiar masculine voice caused me to turn around. Face the left side of the pool deck. Even in my depressed state of mind, my old bones managed an even brighter smile. Seeing the dark-skinned man in a leather jacket by the vending machine.

"Antoine Triplett," I greeted. I walked slowly toward him. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"Hey, likewise," he was smiling like an idiot.

"Where have you been?" Skye questioned, sitting on a pool chair a foot to my left with her laptop. She didn't sound angered or annoyed. Just curious. I took in a breath, inhaling the scent of chlorine. "Ohio," I answered, honestly.

Her face scrunched up. "What the- why were you in _Ohio_?"

"Do you always asked so many questions?" I countered, slightly annoyed.

"It's completely normal!" Fitz answered, from across the pool deck. It caused Skye to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes. She looked back to her computer. Dropping the subject. That's good. I don't know who I can share this with. If anyone at all. Even if I told someone like Coulson, it would compromise Ward's whole mission and he could die. So it's best to keep my lips sealed on where I've been and what I've seen for now.

"You hungry?" Triplett asked, drawing my attention. "This thing's stocked." He tapped the glass of the vending machine with his elbow.

"Hey, I thought you didn't like junk food," Skye pointed out, sounding confused.

He shook his head. "Nah, man, I'm on vacation."

"For how long?" she inquired.

"Until that man tells me it's time for work." He pointed up, and I twisted to see. Coulson had just left the room. "Not tonight," Coulson said. Then he smiled, adding, "Live a little." Coulson went to the vending machine as Triplett stepped away.

"In that case, I'm gonna go crazy," he said, walking around me. "Maybe even have another bag." He chuckled to himself, walking to the room. Scuffling caused me to look down. Skye had nudged a pool chair out from the table. I raised an eyebrow. "Take a seat, stay a while," she said, shrugging one-shouldered. Sighing, I took the seat. "I've never been homeless before," Coulson said.

"It's not fun," Skye commented. "At least we have a pool."

"When I was homeless, I had nothing but a barn that could collapse on me at any moment," I recounted, remembering aloud. I leaned forward into the table, resting my crossed forearms atop it's glass surface. "Sounds fun," Skye said.

I twisted in my seat to see the pool. Watch the water move. It was better than siting there looking at nothing. That way I wouldn't see the image burned into my brained of those scribbled black words. "Sam!" It was Simmons again.

I looked up to see her flagging me down. She gestured for me to come over. "Why don't you come relax with us?" she suggested. "Soak your feet for a while?" Coulson retrieved his snack form the vending machine and sat at the table just then.

Normally I would've stayed. But he was too much of a reminder. So I stood up from my chair and went across the pool desk to Fitz and Simmons. "Coulson said you were in Cuba," Fitz remarked, as I shrugged off my jacket. "That must've been fun."

"It was a hay day," I replied. I tried not to sound too moody. It just kind of slipped out. I rolled up the hems of my jeans to my knee caps and sat beside the pool, at least a foot from Jemma. Then I carefully slid my feet beneath the surface of the highly chemicalized water. It was nice to relax my feet a bit. Considering I did a lot of running and walking. I pressed my palms into the cement on either side of thigh level. Resting my weight on them. "Did you know Ward very well?" Simmons asked.

I glanced at her. "Not as well as I'd thought."

"What was he like? When you knew him?" she asked, her eyes full of curiosity.

Exhaling, I replied. "Cocky, some would say arrogant, a giant pain in my side," I looked down at the water swirling between my feet as I moved them. "But incredibly sweet. I have no doubt that he would've given his life for mine had the occasion ever arisen."

"Yeah, he's just a stand up guy, isn't he?" Fitz bitterly commented, rhetorically. Tossing his knees. Looking perturbed. I sighed. "Was," I corrected. "Past tense."

"I don't care what tense it is. He's a traitor," Fitz said.

Simmons sighed heavily, tossing her eyes. "Calm down, Fitz."

"It's fine," I shook my head a little. "I think all of us here have a bone to pick with Ward." Triplett emerged from the room and made a B-line toward us sitting beside the pool. He held out his small bag of potato chips. "Want one?" he offered, to Fitz and Simmons. They took up his offer, each taking one. Triplett gestured with the bag, his eyes on me. "What about you?"

I shook my head. "No thanks." If I'd eaten anything I have no problem thinking I would just throw it all back up. On a whim decision, a very stupidly made one, my hand dove into my jacket pocket. It unearthed the photo from Ibiza. I held it in my lap. Making sure no one was looking. No one except me. The only person here that would understand the context of this picture. What with all of this, I felt wrong.

Something just felt off in my head. Like there was a kernel inside me that wished I'd stayed at that Hydra base. Just to know Ward was still alive. That he was okay. Too late now, I suppose. I slid the photo away with a sigh. My eyebrow arched at the sound of Fitz's voice. "What if he's being mind controlled? Or he's got one of those things in his head like Peterson, making him do all this bad stuff?" He was obviously grasping at straws.

Simmons exhaled. "Or he's just evil."

"No one is 'just evil'," I disagreed, quietly.

Both scientists turned their attention to me, almost in unison. It was a bit unnerving. "What do you mean?" Trip asked, sitting a few feet behind us on one of the pool chairs. He sounded genuinely curious. Simmons and Fitz both looked expectant. Waiting for me to explain myself. I sighed heavily, turning a bit on the cement to face them all at once.

"Good and evil are matters of opinion and perception," I explained, calmly. "If you raised a child to kick small animals, accepting it as a way of life, what would happen?"

"They would be one sick individual," Trip answered.

"But that is there reality. It's the only 'good' or accepted way that they know. It's a conditioned response from then on to kick any small animal they see," I drove home my point.

Fitz perked up. "Like a long-term brainwashing."

"Exactly. To Ward, Hydra is good. Because that's what he knows. That's his reality."

* * *

 **9 YEARS AGO**  
 **IBIZA TOWN, SPAIN**

This was just one giant annoyance. Sitting in a wrought iron chair apart of an outdoor café. Waiting. I hate waiting. It's the worst part. Because that's precisely when anything could go wrong. "Puc obtenir qualsevol altra cosa?"

I glanced up. A waiter had come to the table. "No gràcies. Estem bé," Grant answered, lowering his newspaper to see. The waiter nodded and zipped away. But I gave Grant a long stare from across the small table.

He stared back. Oblivious. Finally, he shrugged, confused. "What?"

"Are you trying to draw attention to us? A newspaper? Really?" I questioned, knitting my brows. "How stereotypical American spy can you be? This isn't Get Smart."

He scoffed, more like a _pfft_ , and readjusted his paper. Slouching in his chair. "I'm looking nonchalant. Unlike _you_. Little miss sit-there-like-a-veal. Talk about suspicious."

I glared. "You're an imbecile."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." I sighed, tossing my eyes at his comment. But I couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips. Just then my eyes caught on something moving. Not a something. A someone. Our target. "There he is," I said, before taking a sip of my tea. I put down my glass and smiled brightly, raising my voice. Speaking like an American. "Honey, let's get a picture by the fountain!"

"Wha- now?" Grant asked, playing along.

I pushed myself up from my chair and grabbed his wrist. Giving it a tug. "Yes, come on! Where's the camera?" I questioned. He sighed heavily, digging into his pocket as he stood. Tossing the news paper onto the table.

I pulled him along, though he was going willingly, all the way to the fountain across the street. Right where the target would intersect in less than five minutes. Grant unearthed the small disposable camera we'd picked up at a gift shop.

Giving another heavy sigh of annoyance. Draping his arm around my shoulders, the one already holding my hand. It pulled me against his side as he held up the camera. Aiming it at us. He pressed his lips to my left temple.

It was a semi-quick peck. But he wasn't quick to face the camera again. "Alright, smile," he said. And I did. Beaming in front of the lens. It clicked, taking the picture. Just before the target strolled right behind us.

Grant turned the camera around to look at the back of it, taking steps back. Clumsily bumping into the man we needed. "Oh- sorry," Grant apologized, stepping away from him. "My bad." The other man mumbled something under his breath and kept walking.

Obviously frustrated by the encounter. Adjusting his shirt. Once he got out of earshot, I smirked. "Did you get it?" I asked, mostly rhetorical.

Grant made yet another _pfft_. "Of course I got it." He held up a silver watch, then slid it into his pocket. It was seconds before he'd put his arm around my shoulders again. This time to pull me with him as he started down the street in the opposite direction. "We make a good team, Mrs.O'Dell," he commented.

I sighed. "Don't push it, Mr. O'Dell."

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**  
 **BURBANK, CALIFORNIA**

I waited for him to answer as it rang. Arms crossed atop the silver railing of a staircase. At least three blocks from the motel. This way no one on the teem will know where I went. "Sam?" His voice came through the line.

Readjusting my position, I sighed. "What were you thinking? This is incredibly stupid and dangerous, even for you."

"I take it that means you found the unit." He sounded so nonchalant. So relaxed. As if he weren't a literal double agent this time. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Grant...I don't know what your play is, but I want in," I said. "The more support you have, the better the chances of you getting out of this mess alive." There was a second of silence on his head. I stood upright, resting my free hand on the railing in front of me.

"Alright. But you know what this means, don't you?" he asked, rhetorically.

"I'd have to lie to Coulson, I know. I don't care. What do you need me to do?"

He sighed, more like a light exhale. "I need to know what Coulson knows. If the team does something stupid and gets in the way, they could jeopardize this whole thing."

I nodded slowly, listening. Taking it in. "I'm pretty sure I missed the morning briefing, but I'll see what I can find out. Maybe even keep them off your trail," I agreed.

"Thank you, Sam. For believing me. I know that's not how you're wired-"

"Save it. You can thank me once this is over and you're far away from Hydra. Just do me a favor?" I glanced down, taking in a deep breath. "Don't die while you're in there, alright?"

"Don't go getting all sweet on me now, Sam." I could hear the smile in his voice. That cocky smirk I've always wanted to slap. But it stirred something in my chest. Brought a curvature to my lips. "I'll be in touch," I replied, on a sigh.

At that, I ended the call. Slid away my burner. Leaned into the railing. This was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. What if he was just playing me to get information on Coulson's next move? I certainly can't give Ward anything too specific. Just in case. In case this is all in fact a trick. I pushed off the railing and started down the staircase. The walk back to the motel will do me good. Maybe. It might actually just give me enough time to guilt trip myself.

I lied when I said I didn't care about lying to Coulson. I care, but in a different way. Only because I know he'll never trust me the same way again. He'll always think I'm lying to him after this. He might even think I'm with Hydra. Wouldn't that be something? The daughter of the Red Skull actually working for Hydra. Thankfully for me, it was a pipe dream. Not so good for Hydra though. I kept my eyes open all the way to the motel.

Garrett could have eyes anywhere. Watching me. Tailing me. I'm pretty sure I was clear. But you can never be too careful. I stopped at a coffee shop to get my cover squared away. Out to get coffee. Shouldn't be too suspicious. Coulson of all people knows how I am without caffeine.

I pushed through the door to the motel room. A full drink holder in my right hand, balancing out the almost full holder atop it, both nestled under my chin. That wasn't the real balancing act. The real problem was getting the door open. Once I did that it was smooth sailing. "Where have you been?" Coulson asked, turning around to face me. With five other sets of eyes aimed directly at me over his shoulder. He stood just inside the adjoined room.

I paused, raising an eyebrow. Wasn't it obvious? " _Coffee_ ," I over-pronounced the word on purpose. "Caffeine. Hot bean water. Who wants one?" Almost everyone raised their hands immediately. I gave a bland small smile as I slid past Coulson.

Then I handed out the cupped reinforcements. Everyone looked to be digging around in an open suitcase atop the mattress. Once I handed Trip the last coffee, I asked. "What'd I miss?"

"Brought some of my grand dad's old spy gear," Trip answered, puffing up his chest a bit. "It's not much, but it should help us at Cybertek."

I looked to Coulson, eyes rounded. "We're going to Cybertek?"

"We are. But you're free to go. I know you have a life waiting for you elsewhere, away from all of this drama," Coulson said. It surprised me a bit. "This isn't your fight anymore."

"Grant's involved. It's my fight." I shook my head firmly. My eyes narrowed slightly. Facial features steeled. I was a bit offended he'd even think of sending me home. He knows me better than anyone else here. There's no way I'm giving this up. Relaxing myself a bit. Forcing it. I added, "Besides, no one shoots Lola and gets away with it." There was a curve up of his lips, like he were trying not to smile. I know that look.

He was proud. A clap of hands caught my attention and I looked right. Skye sat on the bed, her hands together just above her chest. "Now we just need T-shirts!" she smiled. All eyes were on her then. "Hashtag Justice For Lola." I chuckled a little. The sound mixing in with the light laughter gathered from the whole of us in the room. Then I crossed my arms. Reigning myself back in. "So what's our play?" I asked, looking to Coulson and May.

"Skye needs access to a Cybertek computer," May replied. "So that's what we're going to get."


	8. Chapter Eight :: Downloadable

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **CYBERTEK, PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA**

I was good at disguise. Making people think I'm something I'm not has always come naturally. So when Coulson suggested I play the role of an heiress to billions wanting to invest her funds in Cybertek's future, I practically threw myself at the role.

All I needed was to buy proper attire and some bobby pins. And some kind of incredibly short handbag that only _looked_ comfortable. Then the disguise was complete. Nothing too fancy. A black pencil skirt.

A red, mid-length sleeve strap back top. And the dreaded high heels. Of course I was accustomed to wearing them on missions almost every time. When you play dress up it is key to fit your role in every way.

Though I was severely out of practice. And these were strappy stilettos. But, regardless, I smiled being lead through a hallway. Glass walls to offices on either side. This whole mission relied on me being able to keep my cover.

Supposedly I was a French billionaire's daughter looking to make a life of her own in America, investing in a promising corporation that could make 'real change' in the world. So naturally, I only spoke French.

"Et qu'est-ce que vous faites ici?" I asked, lightly, looking directly at the weasel of a man guiding me on my tour of the building. He looked like a rat. With a bird beak nose and short legs, with brass glasses that did nothing for his pale complexion.

The interpreter, a nice young Indian man, trailed shortly behind. He quickly added in a gist of my words. "Oh, uh, she would like to know what Cybertek does," he said.

"Well, we do many things here at Cybertek," the rat began. Shortly being followed by the French interpretation in my ear from behind. In my other ear I was being fed Coulson and May's interview with some scientists.

Little did either party know I was on my own mission. With my own agenda. Juggling it all was just another faction of the act. "...nous nous consacrons à améliorer les vies d'un projet à la fois-"

Time to pull the bathroom card. "Je suis désolé, mais où est la toilette?"

"Oui, tout droit dans le couloir. La troisième porte à gauche par les ascenseurs," the interpreter replied, before explaining to the tour guide. I gave a small smile and a nod and was on my way. Third door on my left by the elevators.

More like, the perfect spot to ditch my escorts. In the bathroom door I went. Three minutes I waited. And then back out into the hall and to the elevator. I don't think I have much time until the tour guide realizes his badge is missing.

So I walked fast. By the sounds of it, the interview was just ending by the time the elevator doors closed. "Sam, how's it going on your end?" Skye's voice filled my ear.

"Je suis dans le- er- sorry, I'm in the elevator," I replied. The floor ticked away slowly. Painfully so. How long does it take to travel down three floors? "How many languages do you speak? Do you even know?" Skye questioned, curiously.

"Fifty-two," I answered, simply put. "Last I checked." The elevator slowed to a halt, the chime sounding as the doors began to slide open, and I pulled my ear piece out.

Stuffed it in my pocket. Muting any sound. I stepped out of the elevator, letting the doors close behind me. And I pulled out my burner. Dialing as I walked. He answered at the second ring. "Are you inside?" he asked.

"No, I'm calling from the pet store across the street," I all but rolled my eyes.

Ward sighed tiredly. "Are you on level six?"

"Yes. Now where am I going?"

"Take your first available left. You'll come to a T. Take another left, follow that hall all the way to the end. Should be a red door," he directed. He sounded like he was pulling it from memory. But it does not surprise me.

Typical Grant. Go in with only a half-brain idea of your target and wing-it the rest of the way. Never any real planning. That was always my job. To account for the things he did not. Which was usually just about everything.

I followed his directions. Left, left, end of the hallway. There was a sealed shut red door. "Rote Tür," my eyes scanned the outer frame, but it didn't take long to find the lock. "Looks like some kind of code. I don't suppose you know the password?"

"5-1-1-7-2-9-0," he replied, almost instantly.

"I'm not even going to ask." I sighed. But I punched in the pin regardless.

"You think I spent all this time inside Hydra and didn't learn anything confidential?" he questioned, mostly rhetoric. Almost boasting. The door made a hollow click followed by an airy hissing. I gave it a push.

It swung open easily, into a poorly lit room. My free hand moved down my leg. Under my skirt to my thigh holster. Unsheathing my handgun. Then I took slow steps inside. "What exactly am I looking for?" I asked, keeping my voice low. "You never explained that part."

"You'll know when you see it."

That vague answer gave me nothing for a matter of seconds. Then I truly did see it. My shoulders dropped as my eyes settled on a Hydra symbol carved into the wall above a dark wood table-like desk against the far wall.

On the desk were stacks of open and unopened manila folders on either side on a closed laptop. File cabinets lined the walls. It was dank and dark. Obviously someone's hiding spot. Or place of captivity. "Grant, what is this?" I questioned.

"You don't have time for that explanation. Right now you just have to open the computer and download the file labeled 'Project Red Sun' to your flash drive," he replied, focused.

I exhaled heavily. Placed my gun on the desk to open the computer. It looked old. Military grade. Whatever this was, it was important to whoever was using it. I unearthed the flash drive from my thigh holster and gave it a shove into the port. "I'll call when I'm out," I ended the call.

This was quite ridiculous. Though I truly did not have time. I opened the file explorer of sorts and let my eyes scan the file titles for key words. It was alphabetical so I scrolled down to the R's first. And I found it. So I started the download.

The initial estimated time was five minutes. Not bad considering, but I didn't have five minutes. I quickly plunged my ear piece back into my ear to have a listen. Coulson and May were just finishing up on the fourth floor.

The green loading bar was racing across the screen but it wasn't fast enough. Ward would just have to settle for what I have I suppose. I tugged the drive out from the laptop and exited all browsers. Then I was up and moving.

Holstering the flash drive and remaining ready with my hand gun, dashing for the elevators. In the elevator. Up three floors. Sneaking into the bathroom. And walking out like I'd never left. "Quelque chose vient de venir, je suis désolé. Peut-être que nous pourrions reprogrammer? Je demanderai à mon assistant d'appeler votre bureau demain matin, d'abord!"

I rattled off an excuse to the waiting tour guide and interpreter as I kept walking past them, toward the exit. They seemed agitated. But neither chased after me once I told them I'd reschedule. I pushed in my ear piece. "Skye, Trip- get ready for a large file transfer," Coulson said.

"How large?" Skye asked.

Just as I was exiting the building. Maybe two feet outside the front door. And down came crashing a whole metal filing cabinet. Instinctively I skidded to a lurching stop. Just barely missing shards of glass from the fourth floor windows.

Fitz and Simmons came barreling from around the backside of the truck parked just yards away. Trip dove from the driver's side door to help as well. That was pointless. Them all huddled around it trying to lift it.

Normally this would be my last resort. But we were extremely cutting it close on this one. So I kicked of those ridiculous high heels and marched across the asphalt. "Move!" I said, firmly. The three reluctantly stepped back. "Take this."

I shoved my handbag into Trip's chest and he took it before it could drop. Then I pulled up my already shorter sleeves, and I gripped the sides of the filing cabinet. It wasn't hard. It was so natural. It felt normal.

Hefting the cabinet as if it were a small sack of flour from the grocery store. Marching it past the others to the back of the car after Skye backed it up for Trip. Triplett set up a sort of zip line down to the ground level for Coulson and May.

Simmons and Fitz followed me to the car. Probably just to make sure I didn't need any help. That wouldn't happen either way. But it was a nice thought. Once the cabinet was in, I climbed in after it, followed by Fitzsimmons.

Trip climbed into the driver's seat and stepped on the gas. Lurching the vehicle into a high speed swerve out of the parking lot. We got away. We got what we needed. But something nagged at me. The file I downloaded.

What was it? What is Project Red Sun? And why would Grant need it? I mulled it over on the drive to the motel. Then it was unloading the cabinet. Carrying it into the room all on my lonesome. As I set it down on the carpeted floor on the motel room, Trip comment, "Looks like you're still up to your old tricks."

"You know what they say about old dogs," I sighed.

"Still wondering when this mystical 'later' is when you're supposed to explain how you can do that," he said, almost thinking aloud. There was a certain rhetorical sarcasm to it.

I smiled dryly, lips pressed thinly together. "Patience, you must have."

"Okay, Master Yoda," he chuckled. I stepped around him as the others filed in from outside, closing the doors behind them. "It's all yours," I announced, throwing a tired thumb over my shoulder. "I'll be in the shower."

I pushed through the door to the second, connecting room and closed it behind me. Letting my shoulders drop and lungs exhale as I did. Easing out of my clothes as I crossed the room. Slipping into the bathroom. Running the hot water.

It was steaming up the room. Ready to be used. But I stood in front of the sink. More specifically, the mirror. Letting the sound of the water pelting the ceramic tub drown out any emotions that might slip through the door.

My eyes settled on the brow orbs starting back at me in the glass. They were a little blurry, until I wiped a line across the mirror to clear it. Then I was all I could see. The smooth edges of my protruding collar bones. Flat skin across my chest.

My shoulders never did know how to stay straight. They've always slumped on their own, no matter how hard I tried to stay them upright. Like they were doing now. Curving my spine at the shoulder blades. Only furthering the outline of my collar bones.

It made me look borderline anorexic. Though I knew I was not. My arms were lean, along with my stomach. But I was thin. Drastically so. I've always been gangly. Almost completely made up of the length of my legs. I reached up behind my head and gave a tug to the pins holding my hair in place.

The near black waves of thin, straight hair fell to my shoulders and down my back. The one streak of red becoming visible from where I'd tucked it away. My finger dove beneath it and bent, curling the red strands around the fair skin of my knuckles.

Tugging it lightly. Feeling it twinge at my scalp. Pull the skin I know is there. Everything about me looked human. But I felt like a machine. Like something unreal. This small display of emotional thought was too much.

I was feeling too much. Letting myself go too much. But I didn't care. I needed to touch myself. to feel real. This didn't exactly cure my problem. Though I believe it helped. The steam, the moisture in the air, clung to my skin like a life raft.

Alerting me to length of time in which the water had been running. So I stepped away from the mirror and climbed it the tub. Pulled the shower curtain closed. Stood under the water. And did what I always do. The only thing I know I do right. Filed away my thoughts for another day.

* * *

My fingers plunged the flash drive into Skye's computer. She was letting me borrow it for a few minutes while the team rifled through the files they'd stolen from Cybertek. I was right before. The download only got at least half the file.

But hopefully it was enough. I sat on the second bed from the door with the computer on my lap. Looking as inconspicuous as I could. From the outside I might have just looked bored. Though there was no way to know.

I clicked open the Project Red Sun file. It spread out across the screen with pop-ups drenched in words. Some even had diagrams or sketches of some kind. My eyebrows creased, narrowing the outskirts of my eyes as they focused on the small words.

It would the short answer to my questions was nothing short at all. And almost completely, utterly, confoundingly confusing. Then it came to me. It was written in some sort of code. So that thieves and miscreants like me couldn't read it.

"Must be something good," I glanced up at the female voice I knew belonged to a certain female agent. May took slow, steady steps toward the end of the bed. "You didn't even know I was watching you. People don't just get the drop on Agent fifteen."

"I'm trying to concentrate," I replied, unamused.

"On what?" she questioned. She lowered herself to sit feet from my position. Her weight not even making a noticeable dent in the mattress beneath her. I gave her my best tired glare. Letting her know I knew why she was asking.

When honestly it could be for a million different reasons when it came to Agent May. I dropped my shoulders, sighing. "I have personal affairs that need tending to," I answered, blandly.

She looked placid. "That's vague."

"It's also none of your business."

"Point taken." She nodded slowly. Resigning from the conversation. For an excruciating silent moment, we didn't say anything. Just returned each other's stare. Waiting for the other to say something first. "I thought Coulson would've been the one to give me the talk," I commented.

"You're like the daughter he never had," she agreed, nodding slowly. Then she added, "But Coulson's still never had a daughter. He doesn't know the first thing about what's going on in your head."

An eyebrow arched. "And you do?"

"Coulson filled me in on your relationship with Ward. Whether it was sexual or not, you felt something for him. And he betrayed you twice for that fact." I sat there a moment. Watching her. Letting those words sink in.

Reading between their blurred, distorted lines. And then it hit me. I couldn't say that I was surprised Ward found May attractive that way. She's gorgeous. But it was a little uncomfortable sitting there and knowing we'd shared the same man.

Agent May of all people. She and I have never had anything remotely in common. I guess now we do. Leaning back an inch in my position, my features relaxed. "And you can relate because you slept with him," I replied. To which she gave a singular nod.

It was almost solemn. Remorseful. As though she was attending some kind of funeral service. For what, I had no idea. "I know you're tempted to believe there's still good in that man. But there isn't," she said, firmly certain. "Don't make the same mistake we did."

I sat up a little straighter, steeled my face a little more. "I'm not here for him. I'm here for me. He's admitted through various comments that he only joined Hydra because of me. I owe it to myself to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else in my name."

"That sounds lenient."

"I know why you're here May. You want to make sure I'm not changing sides. Well, I can assure you, I am not my father," I sounded bitter as I glared at her. "You have insulted me more than Ward betraying us all has you. You would be smart to leave."

Her expression didn't change. Didn't falter. She only nodded, stood, and made her way out to the pool deck with the others. This is the second time they've tried to get in my head. Coulson and May don't know what they're doing.

The ferocity of the hornets' nest they keep kicking. Soon, they will. They all do.

* * *

 **9 YEARS AGO**  
 **S.H.I.E.L.D.**

I was walking fast. On my way to the armory. Elbows above my head as I readjusted my ponytail. Then my hands were at my sides. Swaying with my wide stride. The thing that could've stopped me, did. Another agent slammed right into the front of me.

Lurching myself back a step. Pushing away from the moron not watching where he was going. Tall, dark, and lacking. "Wohin du gehst! Benutze deine augen," I spat, glaring sharp daggers.

"I'm- I'm sorry, what did you say?" the agent asked. Eyebrows knitting. Head tilting. Probably wondering if I'd actually misspoken. My weight shifted from one heel to the other as I exhaled harshly. "Sprichst du Deutsch?" I questioned, arching an eyebrow attitudinally.

He slowly shook his head, confused. "I don't know what you're saying."

"Oh my- do you speak German?" I was getting frustrated. And it flowed through my words. Impatience and annoyance coating each one. "I asked if you spoke German." He recoiled a bit. Standing up straighter.

Face relaxing. Obviously unexpecting of my tone. Either that, or he was surprised I actually spoke English. I get that one a lot. Then something flashed across his face. Something became clear to him. My eyes narrowed at the smirk forming on his lips.

"You must be Agent fifteen," he realized, aloud. Next he held out his hand. "Agent Grant Ward."

I gave a shift of my gaze. Pointedly eyeing his hand. Crossing my arms over my chest. "Sorry. I make it a point not to touch people," I shook my head. An eyebrow rose as his hand retracted. Even more confused by me now.

Part of me relished in it. The confusion. The mystery. Most people are dumbfounded by a lot of things about me. It feels good to know that they know nothing. "You'll get used to it," Maria Hill stepped up beside us then.

I turned my back away from her slightly, leaning my stance to put space in between us. Giving her a confused yet disgusted look. She moved her eyes to me. "Meet your new partner," she said. "He's going with you to Ibiza."

My eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Your cover is Anthony and Eliza O'Dell, an American couple on their honeymoon," Hill continued, ignoring me entirely. Looking between the both of us now. I was fuming.

"Since when do I need a sidekick?" I questioned, letting my arms fall to my sides.

"I believe the word she used was 'partner'," Grant corrected, looking vaguely offended. I tossed my eyes. Too overwhelmed with disgust for any other reaction. "Since your mission in Munich," Hill answered. "You're under observation until further notice. Suit up. You're out of here in ten."

With that, she turned on her heel and started away. Leaving me alone with my new 'partner'. My eyes bored into her back her entire journey down the hall. Until she turned off into another room. Grant watched too. For a moment.

But then he straightened. Moving his eyes back to me. I looked at him, unchanging of my expression. "What are you under observation for?" he asked.

"They didn't tell you?" I responded, rhetorically.

He shook his head. "No. They conveniently left that part out."

Once again, I rolled my eyes. Readjusting my stance. "It was me and eleven Hydra operatives," I answered his previous question. Starting my own stride along the hallway. Back on my original course. Like a lost puppy, he trailed right behind me. "What did you do?" he questioned.

I tossed the words over my shoulder, unyielding in my pace. Three simple words. "I killed them."


	9. Chapter Nine :: Regrets Only

**PRESENT DAY**  
 **BURBANK, CALIFORNIA**

I sipped my coffee in silence. Eyeing the street through the window at my right. More specifically, the young woman pushing a stroller on the sidewalk. Her small daughter toddling along beside her. With blonde curls to match her mother's.

Seeing things like that made me wonder. I could've had that had I not left S.H.I.E.L.D. three years ago. But I did I really want that? Back then the answer would have been yes. Grant would've found some creative way of convincing me that it was a good idea.

Though now I'm not sure. More than likely the answer would be no. Considering our circumstances. Maybe in a perfect world. One where the daughter of a mass murderer can move on with her life and raise a child nothing like her father. The bell above the door to the café announced his arrival before I'd looked up. "You're late," I said, as he slid into the booth seat opposite me. "We said seven. It's eight thirty."

He sighed. "Yeah, I know. You can't really break cover short notice."

"You look like schweinfuß," I observed, squinting my eyes as I examined the lines of his face. He gave me a look. A tired, unamused, _done with the world_ expression. "Thanks. I needed that," he replied, rhetorically sarcastic. My hand dug into my pocket. Unearthing the flash drive. I placed it on the table top and sat back. Picking up my mug. "That's all I could get from Cybertek. But I had a look at it last night. Apparently whoever wrote it didn't want anyone finding out what it was," I said, before taking a drink.

Grant's eyebrows creased. "What do you mean?"

"It's in some kind of code," I shrugged. I placed my mug down on the table. He sighed heavily. Eyeing the drive in his hand. "Any chance you know someone good enough with computers to crack it?" he asked, sounding hopeful. "Besides Skye?"

My eyes narrowed. It was almost like he was silently begging. His eyes round and full. A certain emotion to his features I couldn't quite explain. I knew then I was probably his only option for finding out what was in that file. "Possibly," was my answer.

I picked up my cup. Took another sip. He continued to stare. Harder this time, if that were possible. More desperate looking. I gave a roll of my eyes. Giving in. "How long do you have?" I asked, sighing.

"I've got the day," he sat back.

"Good. You're going to need it. We're going to Pasadena," I slid from the booth. Standing. "Give me twenty minutes." At that, I left the café. Bringing someone that could potentially use this knowledge for evil to the home of my secret lab rat was a bad idea.

But It was the only option I had. So I guess Andy will have to suck it up. It didn't take me long to make the journey back to the Motel. Trip was up to his elbows inside of a pizza box when I stepped through the gate to the pool deck. Skye was sitting in the chair across from him at the table. Clicking away on her laptop. " _What_ are you doing?" I questioned, as I stepped past Trip.

"Hey, don't judge, alright? I'm hungry," he answered, sitting back. Shaking my head with a light exhale, I headed straight for the room. Inside Coulson was talking with Fitz and Simmons. About what I don't know. They stopped as soon as I opened the door. "Sam," Coulson greeted, turning around to face me. "You're back."

I slid my hands into my jacket pockets. "Not for long. I need to take the day."

"Oh. Where are you going?" he asked. His voice was calm. Light. Neutral. But I couldn't help feeling apprehensive in my answer. But I readjusted my stance. turning halfway to the door. "Pasadena," I answered.

He nodded. Understanding it then. "Alright. Tell Mr. Whittaker I said hello."

"Sure thing, boss." I couldn't help smirking. Knowing what happened the last time Andy and Coulson were in the same room together. It was when I'd first met him. He was kind a jerk back then. Funny. I say that as if he weren't one now. I stepped toward the door. But I was stopped with one word from him. "Here," I turned at the sound of it. Stopping my stride. As I did, I was almost pelted in the side of the head with a set of keys. I caught them as I recoiled back a step. "Take Lola. She needs some exercise."

"Thanks," I nodded once. You would assume it was odd to let someone drive Lola other than himself. But Coulson has been letting me drive her for over a decade. "Wha- you let her drive Lola?" Fitz questioned, astounded. And a little jealous.

"How do you think I learned to drive?" I asked him, rhetorically. His mouth fell open. But I didn't stay to hear any following comments. I was halfway out the door when Coulson called behind me, "Be careful out there!"

"Will do," I called back.

Once again I walked past Skye and Trip. Neither really looked up. Except for Trip. He gave a small nod like gesture. Half a greeting, half a farewell. Unknowing really what to respond with I did what I know how. "Auf Wiedersehen," I nodded once. I said it as I passed by. Even though I was almost to the gate I could still hear him chuckling. So I spared a split second glance over my shoulder. A closed mouth smile on my lips. He was shaking his head. Saying something I couldn't quite understand.

The gate swung shut behind me and I was on my way. To the parking lot, that is. Lola still needed work. Her hood and grill were dusted with bullet holes. I gave my most heartfelt apology as I started her engine. Not just apologizing for what she went through. But for what I was about to put her through. Even though she reportedly fell from the sky she drove quite smoothly. I parked in front of the café and pressed a little on the steering wheel.

Her horn went off once and I sat back. Waiting. "You're kidding, right?" Ward said, approaching the passenger side door. "How'd you get him to give you the keys?"

"He knows I'll take care of her," I answered, glancing up at him. He still looked mildly surprised as he climbed into the passenger seat. Pulling the door closed behind him. Clipping on his seat belt. But I didn't press on the gas. We remained parked a moment longer as I stared him down. I stared until he noticed. Raising an eyebrow as he began to stare back. "What?" he asked, confused.

"Apologize," I replied.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Apologize? What did I do now?"

"Not to me, idiot. The car. You shot her. Many, many times," I clarified, seriously. "Go on. I'll wait. And make it genuine or we're staying here until I'm satisfied." He grumbled something I couldn't understand as he looked away from me. Shaking his head. Showing many signs in his body language that I was being ridiculous. He was quiet for a long moment. But I waited.

There was no way I wasn't making him say it. Lola was too important not to. Grant's shoulders dropped. Looking to the dashboard area. "I'm sorry I shot you," he finally exhaled, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

I nodded once. "That'll do."

"You're unbelievable," he mumbled, looking away again. My foot pressed on the gas, pulling away from the curb. I gave a shrug of my shoulders. The wind buzzing through my ears. "Thought you were into that sort of thing," I commented.

Silence. A smile threatened to shine through. But I held it back. Giving him a quick glance. He was staring at me blankly. Watching me observantly. Like he used to do. Back when he didn't really know me. "What?" was all he said.

"That's what Skye does, right? I think they call it adorkable," I replied.

He was quiet again. "What are doing, Sam?"

"Talking. That's what people do, Grant. You told me you did this all for me. And yet this whole time you've been getting it on with two other women," I answered. My bitterness seeping in a bit. Sporadically glancing at him and then back to the road. "So which is it?"

"Did I feel something for Skye? Yeah, I did. But that's why I pinned up that picture. You had to have seen it," he tried to explain.

An eyebrow instinctively arched. "And what about May, huh? What was she?"

"A distraction. Something to try and convince myself you weren't worth it anymore," he admitted, calmly. I forced myself to swallow at his honesty. Keeping my fingers tight around the steering wheel to anchor me. Though I might just rip it from the steering column. So I forced myself to relax. To keep up the façade. "Does _she_ know that?" I barely had the heart to ask.

I didn't look at him. But his answer was a hollow sounding, "I don't know."

We were on a highway. It was not conducive. But I did it anyway. Pulling Lola to the side of the road. Cutting off the engine. Turning in my seat to see him. I was only furious now. "What is wrong with you, Grant?" I questioned.

"Wrong with _me_?" he reiterated, offended and slightly confused.

"No, wait, I know. You're a _liar_ and _manipulator_. And I'm an _idiot_ for even thinking of taking you anywhere." I shook my head at myself, moving to face straight ahead in my seat. Looking anywhere but at him.

He made a scoffing sound. "You wanna point fingers? How about you, huh? You lie to every person you ever meet," he pointed out, angered. My features steeled as I turned my head to see him. "How's that for a liar, Sam? Have you told _anyone_ your real name?"

"It's classified. Only Fury and Coulson can know. I didn't decide that," I countered.

"No, but you could say forget them and do it anyway. But you don't. You follow along with what they tell you to do just like you always have. Like you don't have a mind of your own," he remarked.

Gritting my teeth, I started the engine. "I've changed my mind. You don't _look_ like a schweinfuß. You are a schweinfuß. Speak again and you're rolling from this car." I drove back into the road. Silence filled the rest of our trip.

He did not even dare to touch the radio. Probably for fear I might actually follow through with my threat. I full planned on it. Unfortunately such occasion never arrived. It wasn't too incredibly hard to find a decent parking space.

It was only in the third row. I tried to calculate the walking time as I shut the driver's side door behind me. Maybe a maximum of ten minutes. Most likely less. But my calculations were cut off by Grant's obnoxious voice. "So when are you gonna tell me who we're looking for?" he asked.

It was his typical nonchalant. His we-just-had-an-argument-but-i'm-ignoring-it tone. I used to hear it a lot when we worked together at S. .L.D. Let's just leave at I don't get along with most people. And Ward was no exception.

Sighing, I pressed the lock on Lola's keys. Stepping around the front of her. "Andrew Whittaker. He's a student here," I answered. Obviously not in the mood. "But don't tell him who you are. He won't let you in."

Grant looked confused, walking beside me. "Why me?"

"He's a little over protective of prospective girlfriends," I explained. Simply put, Andy's been putting the moves on me since I met him almost four years ago. I didn't bother to look at him. But the aura around Grant seemed to change.

It was a little strained before, though mostly neutral. Now it was extremely apprehensive. And I knew why. Walking across the campus didn't take more than five minutes. And then we were at the Fleming House. The tall dark brown doors contrasted it's white exterior.

"Fleming House was originally built with funds provided by some twenty donors and was named in honor of Arthur H. Fleming, who served as president of the Board of Trustees from nineteen-seventeen to nineteen thirty-three," I recited the history from the brochure as we stepped up to the door.

Grant was at least two steps behind at all times. Letting me lead the way into the House and to Andy's room. It was a little fuzzy. But I was able to recall the right one. With a heavy sigh, I rapped my knuckles against the wood. Then I took a step back to wait. With no answer following. I knocked again. Louder this time. "Andy. Abre la puerta, malvavisco," I said, loud enough to be heard on the other side.

There was a scuffle. "Que eres tu mi madre?" he questioned, echoing through the door. "¿cual es la contraseña?"

It was almost embarrassing. Like talking to my eleven year old son that locked me out. Crossing my arms, I exhaled. "Jugo de cactus," I answered. Not a second passed and the door unlocked. Swinging open to reveal a sleep-deprived looking Andrew.

He'd let his once bare skin turn into stubble along his cheeks and over the top of his lips. Even allowing his hair to grow enough to curl around his ears. "What, do you live under a rock?" I questioned, teasing. "Look at you. What is this mess?"

My hands moved up to his hair. Taking strands and giving them a light tug. Before he swatted me away, stepping back. "Bien, bien. Get your skinny butt in here before I call Campus Security," he replied, dryly sarcastic.

I hummed. Stepping inside past him. "I hope you don't mind I brought a friend."

"Who is he, your bodyguard? You might wanna get a new one. I could break him over my knee," Andy commented. I turned around to face him. He was still standing by the door. Grant in the doorway. Andy looked to Grant only to find him already staring.

More like glaring. "You know I have a gun, right?" Grant said, rhetorically. "Do you like your knee caps? You might have to get one replaced."

"Play nice, boys," I reminded, crossing my arms. Leaning my butt back into Andy's desk. Grant stepped in all the way and Andy closed the door. Making sure to lock it before walking around Grant to get to me at the desk.

Andy sighed. "What do you need this time? Fake passport? Ticket to Albania?"

"I need you to decipher this," I corrected, unearthing the flash drive from my jacket pocket. I held it out to him. He took it, eyeing it suspiciously a moment, before wrinkling his nose. "Seems fishy," he said.

I gave him a look. "When have I ever gotten you in trouble? I thought we were familia. Somos como hermanos, ¿recuerdas? It's safe, I promise, malvavisco."

His features looked cautious. Acutely aware. But he gave a small nod. Then gave my side a shove. "Fine. But you gotta let me get to my computer first."

I stepped away from the desk and he dropped into his office chair. He closed the windows on his laptop and inserted the drive. "So who's the goon?" Andy questioned, tipping his head toward Grant in a gesture.

"The only Agent stupid enough to ask me for help," I re-crossed my arms. Readjusting my stance. "He's also my partner for this mission."

"You know S.H.I.E.L.D. is dead, right? Even I watch the news," Andy pointed out. He was rapidly clicking with his mouse. Eyes darting across the screen as he worked. That man's always been an excellent multitasker.

One of his many skills. Holding a perfectly lucid conversation while using a computer without a hitch. After Russia I'd never be able to concentrate like that. "This one's off the books. A little retaliation where it counts," I explained.

He hummed a moment, understanding it then. "Ah, I see. This is a revenge plot."

"Something like that," I nodded with a light shrug.

"Alright. But you gotta promise to kick one of those cabrón Hydra agents in the face for me," he said.

I gave a toss of my eyes. But I replied anyway, "Fine, if you promise to watch your language." He hummed another beat. Thinking it over as he clicked. Finally deciding on a reply.

"Deal."

Sighing, I stepped away from the desk. Turning around to face the wall. Browsing the hanging photos and awards. Seeing what all I'd missed. I never actually told Andy I was leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. I just didn't talk to him for three years. You're figuring out by now, I'm sure, that I am not good at goodbye. I don't know a single person who is. "How long will this take?" Grant asked, breaking his uncharacteristic silence. I paid no mind. It was a neutral question.

No need to step in. "At least an hour. Probably longer," Andy answered, begrudgingly.

Grant sighed. "Yeah, we don't have that."

I turned around at that. Eyebrow arched high. His demeanor was a tired annoyance. But there was something else. Something rigid. Something defensive. He was ready to fight. "Grant, what aren't you telling me?" I questioned.

"You need to turn that off," Grant told Andy, as he sidestepped to the window. Nudging the curtains aside. "Now."

Andy made a scoffing sound. "Excuse me-"

"What is going on?" I demanded the answer. Crossing the room in two strides. Gripping Grant's upper arm and giving it a strong tug. His eyes shifted to mine as he stepped from the window. Only enhancing his proximity to my face.

But I didn't move. Didn't let on that I was thinking of such trivial things in this moment. Such things like the three inches of space between our noses. I only inhaled as he replied, "Garrett. He tracked the kid's signal. We need to go."

"Andy, turn it off," I marched over to the desk. Grabbed hold of the laptop lid and forced it closed. His fingers just barely escaped getting slammed. "Put it in a bag. We're leaving."

Andy held up his hands, away from his computer. "Whoa, whoa- what?"

"Pack your things, malvavisco. _Now_." I hauled his half empty bag off the floor and pushed it into his chest with a good shove. He gave a heavy sigh. But he was obviously trying to keep his calm as he did as told. Packing his computer supplies into the bag.

My fingers snagged the drive before he could pack it as well. Sliding it into my back pocket for safe keeping. My hand brushed along my lower back. Touching the outward adjustment of my belt to hold my glock. Reassuring my bones that it was in fact there.

Andy picked up his bag in a scatter-brained fashion and clumsily pulled on a jacket. Mumbling incoherent words in Spanish beneath his slightly heavy breathing. I turned my head to see Grant at the window. "If I find out you had anything to do with this-"

"You'll kill me?" he mused. "I've heard it before, chica."

Only settling for a stern glare, I grabbed Andy's shoulder and pulled.


End file.
